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FOLLY 











FOLLY 


BY 

CLEMENT WOOD 

Author of 

“Mountain/’ “Nigger,” etc. 



BOSTON 

SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 





Copyright, 1925 

By SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY 

(Incorporated) 


V 


x C 


Printed in the United States of America 


THE MURRAY PRINTING COMPANY 
CAMBRIDGE, MASS. 

THE BOSTON BOOKBINDING COMPANY 
CAMBRIDGE; MASS. 





CONTENTS 


PACK 


I. 

The Blackbeard Gets His Man . 

9 

II. 

The Bristol Tide Rises 

25 

III. 

Out of the Gorge 

40 

IV. 

Off to London .... 

58 

V. 

Bloody Wynne .... 

81 

VI. 

A Little More Blood . 

99 

VII. 

The Salamander Woman . 

111 

VIII. 

The Slender Mohock . 

131 

IX. 

A Trip Down the Hill 

148 

X. 

Swords Out .... 

163 

XI. 

A Blunt Word Out of Season 

181 

XII. 

The Ear of the King . 

196 

XIII. 

Storm. 

210 

XIV. 

The Black Gentry 

225 

XV. 

Ashore. 

244 

XVI. 

News from Virginia . 

258 

XVII. 

The Black Sloop Sails 

272 

XVIII. 

Into the Sea .... 

288 






















* 








FOLLY 




FOLLY 


CHAPTER I 

The Blackbeard Gets His Man 

In the days when Bristol was the first port of 
England, ships docked within hail of High Street 
and Corn Street. These were great honest ships, 
laden with sugar from the Antilles, with wine from 
France and Spain, with dark merchandise from 
the African coast; tall sober ships loaded with 
cloth for the Baltic, the Levant, and farther havens. 
There were other craft that hardly nosed in from 
Severn Mouth, but paused warily at the lips of 
Channel Gorge; ships poised for sudden flight, if 
need arose: crimping sloops, smuggling craft, and 
great uneasy vessels that flew any flag in a port, 
and the darkest flag of all on the open sea. 

Within the inner city, where High and Wine and 
Corn and Broad Streets lay, the roadways were at 
best narrow lanes, built over crumbling cellars. 
In all but the few widest of these, even a sugar cart 
might be wedged between the fronting houses; in 
any, it might and often did go tumbling down into 
the underground vaults. A coach in these flimsy 
alleys was unthinkable. There was scant room 


10 


FOLLY 


for jolting trucks of wares drawn by dogs, and for 
jostling companies of the wealthy on foot, with 
their train preening along in rich livery. 

This was the inner city. But down by the docks, 
at the head of the Channel, the foul little lanes 
twisted and cowered, hardly better than rat runs. 
Bristol, the all of it, was the black heart of the 
slave trade with the new colonies in America. 
These warped lanes were the center of a traffic as 
dark, the crimping game. Many a well-shouldered 
man and strapping youth had been shanghaied and 
shipped senseless before the mast, to any port of 
the seven sullen seas. 

All this Master William Leigh, of Canyng 
Manor, knew well. He knew a score better rea¬ 
sons why he should have kept his untempered 
youth near the great sheltering bulk of St. Mary 
Redcliffe, rather than under the forbidding walls 
of this evil region. But he was young, briskly 
young, with all the assurance of mature nineteen: 
did not the London blades play at being Mohocks, 
and tempt the blackest hutch and cranny of the 
teeming capital? And what hole could be blacker 
than this Link Lane, with no light its whole 
squeezed stretch but a curtained glimmer now and 
then, from behind which drunken hiccoughed 
songs and catches stained the night’s silence? 

He had started out alone, with an hour to kill: 
he had been cautioned to avoid the Gorge, and by 
now he was more than waited for. The hour had 


THE BLACKBEARD GETS HIS MAN 11 


long died, in this endless odorous black sink of the 
sea town. For the last quarter of an hour, more¬ 
over, he had grown in unease, until by now he 
wished heartily that he were anywhere but in this 
smelly murk. For, a quarter of an hour before, 
he had first noted that he was no more alone. 
There were feet behind him, heavy feet, two pairs 
of heavy feet. Walking as daintily as a cat, he 
had even been able to make out how the footfalls 
differed, and had begun to picture, in his stirred 
mind, the men that must drive on those dogged 
pursuing feet. There was the heavier thudding 
pair, that crunched stone and wood, for all the 
care in putting them down; there was the some¬ 
what lighter, more careless pair, that scuffed along 
at times as if unwilling to hold to the pursuit. He 
held his nerves as taut as he could. It could not 
have been more than a quarter of an hour, though 
already it seemed a black eternity. The bright 
world, to him, had long shrunk to one narrowing 
dark road, peopled only by himself holding ahead 
in troubled spirit, and by the two invisible things 
that followed four full steps back from his heels. 

Once he had quickened his steps: the feet fol¬ 
lowing had quickened no less, and no more. He 
had scuffed slower; the pursuit had slackened as 
much. Evidently, then, they were not ready yet to 
annoy. In the utter dark, he could not turn and 
pass through them. So far, at least, he had kept 
ahead: and there would be a moon soon. 


12 


FOLLY 


He knew enough about the Gorge to recall that 
this murky rat-hole was called Link Lane, and 
that he was almost at its end. Beyond it lay the 
darkly shivering water; he would not be well set, 
with it at his back. Time would come, too soon, 
when he would have to turn and face in the 
blackness the heavy thudding boots and the lighter 

scuffing pair; and then- He tightened his 

hand joyously on the hilt of his sword; what was 
youth for, if not to meet darkness and danger? 
At the lane’s end, moon or no moon, let come 
what would, he would turn. 

And then a heavy door creaked suddenly open a 
score of feet before him, and threw a yellow stain 
of light on the fouled way. In one glance he 
saw that it was a tavern, with a Hogshead as its 
sign. His thought drove swiftly ahead; he could 
cross the stretch of light, turn, and see who fol¬ 
lowed. But that would be less the man’s part 
than to turn now, and eye down the skulkers with 
the threat of his youthful sword. No sooner 
thought, than he swung lightly on his heel, and 
from the light faced the darkness, hand idling 
along his hilt. 

The feet came on—heavy thudding feet, lightly 
scuffing feet. 

“C-can you tell me, fellow,” the words chat¬ 
tered a bit in spite of his will, “where lies Avon- 
mouth Road?” 

All the time, his quickened senses built what 



THE BLACKBEARD GETS HIS MAN 13 


was happening in the darkness before him. Heavy- 
thudding feet were coming implacably on; lightly 
scuffing feet had stopped—no, they were whisper¬ 
ing around the denser darkness beyond the light, 
circling still out of vision. 

Then, too quickly to separate the impressions, 
the yellow flare was peopled with a pair of great 
heavy boots, dank draggled hose, a fouled brown 
coat, and then a face above them. He hardly 
weighed that the man was heavier than himself, and 
forbiddingly tall; the youth’s glance turned from 
the blackly shining eyes to something more blackly 
shining—a great black beard, commencing almost 
at the eyes, which covered the whole face, with its 
beribboned ends caught over the man’s huge ears. 
Everything faded but the sight of the horrible 
beard: it grew in excited eyes to a hairy black 
monster, a menacing perturbation in nature. 

The beard opened, and its mouth spoke to him, 
in a huge voice vaguely rasping. “Here, behint 
me—” He pointed with a vast claw hand up the 
way he had come, with a wavering gesture to the 
left. 

And then, too late, Will Leigh knew what the 
scuffing shoes had been up to. Before he could 
leap away, it came—the ringing thud in his ears, 
the stabbing pain on the back of his head. His 
body slowly crumpled to the mired ground. 

“Tally three,” the black beard said coolly, nudg¬ 
ing the prone victim with his toe. “Flat as a 


14 


FOLLY 


flounder. An’ a skimpy enough bit this ’un is, pox 
take him. But it’s all one with Cap’n Pett; hands, 
he says, an’ hands he gets. He’ll make a man out 
of ’em, Bloody Pett will, he says, in or out of a 
tarpaulin bag. In or out, Murden!” with a gross 
chuckle. “H’ist his legs, an’ lug him along; 
feather, he is.” He slipped accustomed hands 
under the slim shoulders, and raised the limp 
weight easily. “Now for the Black Nan, to hand 
up this bale o’ dry goods.” 

“They’re all awk’ard an’ heavy,” the man called 
Murden grumbled. “Heavy, an’ awk’ard too. 
Come on, Teach—let’s tote him in the Hogshead, 
an’ have a bouse. This is dry work.” 

“Sling him aboard first,” meanwhile jostling the 
body up and down, as if to press the other’s aid. 

The slighter man shook his head. “Now, Teach, 
I got my rights, by the Rules.” 

“Well, up with his legs, an’ hustle-” 

“Side door?” 

“Lug him in; nobody in the Hogshead minds a 
commodity like this.” v 

The man with the black beard shoving from be¬ 
hind, and Murden grumbling awkwardly ahead, 
they passed into the main taproom, and on into 
a side room. Their entrance did not cause a ripple 
among the half dozen men who stood morosely 
guzzling there. When the body of the shanghaied 
youth, thus casually bundled along, bumped the 
floor in the passage from room to room, one or 



THE BLACKBEARD GETS HIS MAN 15 


more of the men looked up, and looked away as 
quickly. One of them, a sallow man standing 
nearest to the door of the side room, looked back, 
more curiously: he started suddenly when he saw 
the young man’s face in the wavering light. For 
a moment he blinked curiously after it. Then he 
mumbled something to the tapster, sidled for the 
outer door, and vanished quietly into the darkness. 

“Make mine a beer,” growled Murden, as he 
reappeared in the main room. 

The Blackbeard lifted his nostrils in a sneer 
of nodding ferocity at this vulgar taste. “Bristol 
milk, Jem, an’ presently!” 

His companion looked across at him with sus¬ 
picious disfavor. “You ain’t nobility, Teach. One 
would fancy you was Mayor Canyng’s dratted 
ghost, slopping up Spanish wine, instead of a 
man’s brew!” 

“Your best brew, mind you,” directed to the 
tapster. He turned on his associate with an 
answering scowl. “You don’t know what a man 
is, Murden, pox take me if you do! A man’s a 
man as knows nobility ain’t a man, it’s a pest. It’s 
a plague. It’s a bloody Black Death. Ed Teach 
is good as nobility any day, an’ better too. May¬ 
be my dirk hasn’t said so! I be flea’d alive, if it 
hasn’t. It was nobility bunted me out of Her 
Dratted Majesty’s dratted navy, that it were. Me, 
I drink my Bristol milk like a man; an’ no son of 
a crimping Will Canyng’ll say me no.” 


16 


FOLLY 


“Thar she blows!” snickered one of the drink¬ 
ers, a small man with a pocked face and a dapper 
little red beard. 

“Want a pop in yo’ gullet, Pimple?” His 
hand rested negligently on one of the pistols 
stuck in the beribboned sling over his shoulders; 
his face was a vast black meteor. 

“Eh, Teach, can’t ye take a joke?” 

“I bury jokes. That’s good brew, tapster,” lick¬ 
ing his lips noisily. “Finish up your ha’penny 
beer, Murden; we got work still.” 

“Heavy work, an’ awk’ard.” With this he 
grumbled his way back into the dim side room. 

The man with the black beard stood over the 
huddled body on the floor. “He’s talkin’,” he said. 
“Mark him, now.” 

The voice came faintly from the youth, still 
dazed from the thug blow. “Wh-where am I?” 

“You’re in the hands of friends,” sneered the 
leader of the two crimps. “You’re to take a sea- 
jaunt for your health.” 

The youth started up from the floor, seeking to 
sit upright. The effort was too much; his head 
wilted down into his trembling hands; he pressed 
them fiercely against his temples. “For the love 
of God, men-” 

“Friend o’ yours, is He? Maybe He can help 
you.” 

“I—I’ll give you money—anything- You 

can’t ship me away; I’ve got to — I’ve got to stay.” 




THE BLACKBEARD GETS HIS MAN 17 


“H’ist him, Murden.” 

The young hands trembled out, and caught 
pleadingly at the daubed hose of the man with the 
black beard. “You’re a Christian man-” 

44 Me a Christian, you—you fuddled patch! 
That’s a funny fowl to call Ed Teach. Christian, 
eh, Murden? Me!” 

44 I can’t see, hardly- My head’s ringing 

dreadfully- Money- I’ll give you 

money- You say you’re a Christian-” 

The voice trailed away. 

44 He’s out of ’is head, Teach; thinks you’re a 
dratted parson, maybe.” 

“You’ll save me, sir!” Again the trembling 
hands clutched at the man’s legs. He began to re¬ 
gain command of himself; a note of studied cour¬ 
tesy crept back into his voice. “You don’t want a 
mere stripling, like me, sent down into the un¬ 
christian hell of a voyage before the mast, under 
one of these brutal Bristol skippers! I’ve been 
told of the horrors, my man; you can’t know-” 

“Lean back against the wall, mate, an’ rest 
yourself; you’ve a long voyage ahead,” said 
Teach drily. “I don’t know the horrors, you say? 
I?” He tapped hollowly on his chest. “Reg’lar 
ol’ scarecrow I am, you think maybe? Reg’lar ol’ 
dead monkey? Matter o’ thirty-eight years ago I 
was born in this same rat-hole of Bristol you may 
have been dropped in; matter o’ sixteen years later, 
I was bunged on the poll, an’ shipped over to the 









18 


FOLLY 


islands. Hell, you say? It were hell, all right. 
Didn’t Black Codd, the ugliest mate ever sailed 
out o’ Bristol, didn’t he beat me an’ lash me every 
livin’ day o’ that trip? What with bein’ kicked 
around by the old man, an’ the kiss o’ the cat-o’- 
nine-tails if I didn’t hop like a hare when the 
bloody mate coughed, I know what it’s like, I do. 
Ed Teach don’t know the horrors, you say, may 
the plague take you!” 

“I—I’m sorry-” 

“An’ look at me now,” he stuck his villainous 
face suddenly before the younger man’s, till Will 
could not help but shrink. “It made a man o’ me, 
that’s what it done. I were second mate, I were, 
on Her Dratted Majesty’s dratted Leopard , I 
were, privateerin’ out o’ Jamaica. Me! An’ 
dropped like a red shot, now they’ve wormed to¬ 
gether a blasted peace, they call it, an’ me rated 
an’ cashiered! But they can’t come over Ed 
Teach, my lad! Cap’n of a crimpin’ gang, I am, 
lawfully elected. An’ hark you—” his great black 
eyes bored out of the black-bearded meteor of 
his face, “that’s what you may be, if you’ve got 
guts in you! We’ll make a man out o’ you—me 
an’ Murden an’ Bloody Pett—instead of a sweet- 
stinkin’ young lordling. You may even be a 
crimp, some day!” 

“Master Teach, I will be a man; that score’s 
mine to mark. But I choose a pleasanter, manlier 
way than being trundled about like a hogshead 



THE BLACKBEARD GETS HIS MAN 19 


of sugar, and shipped blindly before the mast. 
But it’s not for myself I’m pleading. I could stand 
it, and make you hop when I come back—for I 
will come back, never fear, and I shan’t forget 
you-” 

“Listen to the cpckerel! Devil take me, but the 
boy’s got somethin’ in him, eh, Murden?” 

“By your leave,” with aloof courtesy, gradu¬ 
ally warming to his message, “I plead for another. 
I have a young sister, of an even wilder nature 
than I—Heaven shield her—a madcap hoyden, 
who must needs have my arm and my sword.” 

The black beard lifted, the black eyes glittered 
in amusement. “My arm an’ my sword—a good 
round phrase that. I must note it.” 

“We have neither mother nor father living, my 
sister and I. The aunt who reared us, Mistress 
Jane Bodham, has just died of the plague, Heaven 
rest her. My sister is alone in Bristol, and I am 
to take her to London. Without me, she will be 
more alone there than ever. Sir, you’ll have to 
let me go! Think of the plight of that seventeen- 
year-old girl! With me away, anything may hap¬ 
pen to her—anything!” He ceased, lips slightly 
quivering. 

Teach leaned back against the wall; a moody 
shadow came to rest on his face. “Well, let it. 
Let it. What of it?” 

“But—have you no sisters? Have you no 
mother?” 



20 


FOLLY 


“Mother—I never knew what mothered me. I 
had a sister—her name was Jane, too. A fair- 
favored wench she were—as clean as a flower. 
London, you said: it was there she journeyed, an’ 
on what they call Ludgate Hill she set up a shop, 
sellin’ ribands and gloves. I had a sister.” He 
paused, lidding his eyes. 

“And is she-” 

“0, you shall hear. Two damned young gal¬ 
lants, such as you’ll I doubt not grow to be, finding 
she said ‘No’ to all they said, set on her at dusk 
with their footmen. She had her turn served, yes. 
They pulled her body out of Thames, the watch 
did, ten days later; not a pretty sight—not a 
pretty sight. That’s how nobility has served me 
an’ mine. Why should I fret at what may hap to 
sister of yours?” 

“You can’t be so cruel-hearted! I beg you, in 
the name of your merciful Saviour and mine-” 

“You beg me! Who are you?” With a rhe¬ 
torical, downward curve in the tone. 

“I—I am Master William Leigh, of Can-” 

“You are not,” the words hacked out. “You 
poor zany, you’re my hogshead of sugar, trundled 
about to be shipped blindly before the mast— 
your own words they are. You’re my commodity. 
I sell such as you to them as buy such, an’ must, to 
earn an honest penny, since the dratted Queen’s 
men turned me off. Can a hogshead of sugar 
plead to me? Can a commodity tell an honest 





THE BLACKBEARD GETS HIS MAN 21 


merchant, like Ed Teach, where it would be sold, 
an’ where not? You’re nothing—so many pence 
—so much beer for Bully Murden, so much 
Bristol milk for me. You talk? Not a word! 
Lug him along, Murden; he can walk now. To 
the Black Nan with him!” 

“I beg you-” 

“Walk him on, man—an’ stop your pretty 
mouth, or I’ll stop it for you!” 

The Blackbeard blazed at him so terrifyingly, 
that the youth could not say more. The man 
called Murden pulled him lurching to his weak 
feet, and started him for the door. The other 
crimp circled them, shielding them from too much 
observation from the others in the main room. So 
they passed out of the yellow dimness of the 
Hogshead, and guard and prisoner turned down 
to the docks, while Teach faded into the quick 
blackness behind them. 

“An hour,” chanted his harsh voice out of the 
darkness to the others. 

Will Leigh heard his companion chant back in 
answer, “And another.” Then he found himself 
hurried on down the soggy way. 

He collected his mind as swiftly as he could, 
and kept his peace until they were more than three¬ 
score rods from the inn. 

“Master Murden,” he said gravely, “you have 
it in your hands to be a rich man from this night’s 
work.” 



22 


FOLLY 


“There’s not that much pay in your bloody car¬ 
cass.” 

“From me, I mean. I follow the Earl of West- 
port; I am to travel in his train tomorrow. He is 
wealthy—none wealthier, as you know; I am 
worth much in his eyes. All you need do is to 
report back that I twisted and gave you the slip 
in the darkness; there is a matter of five golden 
sovereigns now for you, and as many more I’ll 
leave where you say tomorrow.” 

“We’ll get your gold, don’t fear-” 

“They’re shrewdly hid; and five more tomorrow, 
where you say.” 

“Keep your sovereigns—I know Teach. What 
he wouldn’t do to my bloody head—he’s a hard 
an’ cruel man, Teach is. I wouldn’t dare— Cruel 
he is, an’ hard too.” 

“I’ll let you join my company, if you seek to 
leave this crimping life.” Promises in such a 
moment, he reflected, must not falter. “Or I’ll 
pay you well, when I get my hands on money com¬ 
ing to me. Thus, you see, you will line your own 
pockets, with no loss to yourself.” 

“Walk on, I say. I know Teach.” 

“My sister, Master Murden—” His voice 
sank lower, trembling with depth of feeling, 
“Folly is a lovely girl, and a needy one, with none 
but me to stand between her and the world. You 
had a mother—a sister—some woman dear to you 
— Think of her, and in her name spare me, for 



THE BLACKBEARD GETS HIS MAN 23 


the five golden sovereigns—you’ll get them now— 
and five to come tomorrow! If you do not, and ill 
come to her—I vow I’ll harry you on land and sea, 
and no Teach will suffice to save you then! For the 
girl’s sake-” 

“I belong to the crimpin’ gang; if I play false, 
it’s death.” 

“It’s worse than death for that fair girl, if you 
do not. And—to let me give you the slip in this 
darkness— As a man, I plead with you! I’ll 
palm you the five sovereigns now-” 

“Gold, you said?” 

Will held his voice level with difficulty. “Gold,” 
he repeated simply. “Five more, at noon tomor¬ 
row, in the north confessional at St. Mary Red- 
cliffe—all gold.” 

Murden faltered, studying him. “Your sister 
needs you?” 

“She has none other.” 

“There is a maid I— A good maid, too. I ha’ 
warned Teach to let her be. Gold— Slip me the 
five sovereigns, an’ God guide you back to the 
inner city, young fool, for I cannot do more for 
you.” 

“Here—hold your hand— One, two, and two— 
five—I’ll never forget this, Master Murden-” 

“Good fortune, young master—” his voice shook 
in the darkness. “I know Teach——” 

There was a sudden unseen commotion beside 
him. The body of Master Will Leigh tumbled 






24 


FOLLY 


again to the damp road. A voice split the dark¬ 
ness like a torch: “My pistol is on your heart, 
Murden,” the harsh voice of Teach whispered 
forth. “I’ll call Pimple an’ the others—then 
settle with you for this night’s lily gizzard!” 


CHAPTER II 
The Bristol Tide Rises 

The Blackbeard set fingers to his lips, and blew 
a queer wailing whistle. A startling hush fol¬ 
lowed the eerie call: for a long moment the night 
held its breath. 

Murden’s voice chattered out, a scared, sick 
tone: “Put down your gun, T-teach; I was a- 
takin’ him-” 

“You lie in your throat. I heard all. Steady 
there—I can see you-” 

Murden’s hand dropped bloodlessly from the 
dagger’s haft he had reached for. “I was a-takin’ 
him, I say-” 

A quick padding of many feet, out of the dark¬ 
ness behind them—constantly louder and closer. 

“An hour,” chanted the Blackbeard swiftly. 

“—And another. You, Teach? What’s 
toward?” 

“Take this young rogue’s body to the Black Nan. 
See Pett himself, partic’lar; from me, say. Me an’ 
Murden has business elsewhere. You’re in charge, 
Pimple.” 

“Good. You’ll be aboard, I’ll tell him?” 

“Soon enough. An hour.” 

A softly chanted answer, “And another.” 

25 





26 


FOLLY 


The others hurried away in orderly fashion. 
The two men were left to front one another in the 
darkness. 

“I’ll go—” began Murden, with a choked gasp. 

“Steady, steady,” warned the Blackbeard. “Me 
an’ you has business to settle first, Murden. Hand 
over that nasty dirk— No pistol, eh? Now 
mark me—I’ll just have you step backward down 
Bilge Lane—there’s a sweet, quiet spot on the 
docks at the bottom, where me an’ you can sit an’ 
talk this little matter out. Backward, now-” 

Murden shivered, eyes closed. “I—I demands 
a trial, right an’ fair, before the comp’ny-” 

“When I caught you nuzzlin’ your bloody head 
with the prisoner’s, an’ with the bloody gold in 
your hand? Pass it over, an’ presently, while 
we’re minding it. Five, it were— There. Now, 
walk!” 

“I demand-” 

“You know the Rules. Spare your breath.” 

“Teach, I’ll get you—” His body bent evilly 
outward; he took one step back, as if about to 
spring on his pursuer. 

“You get me—with this gun betwixt us? You 
ain’t man enough. Go on—watch out, here are 
steps. Backward, I said—like a dolt of a crab, as 
don’t know enough even to walk sideways. Go on. 
Go on. Sixty-two there is—you didn’t know that; 
it’s Ed Teach’s job to know everything. One more 
—there. Now, out on the dock with you!” 





THE BRISTOL TIDE RISES 


27 


“I demands a fair-” 

“Bully Murden, you’re dead already. That’s 
Rules. I couldn’t spare you, if I willed to. Not 
that I ever liked your ill-favored face; I mis¬ 
doubted but you were crooked, all along. More 
steps now—slow, slow— Dead by the Crimps’ 
Rules you are; and in my hand it’s put to end you. 
I don’t dodge a duty; not Ed Teach. An’ the best 

way to end you-” 

“Listen, Ed-” 

It was small interruption. “You’re a rat, so you 
could drown. A dirk’s clean an’ quick. A pistol’s 
quicker, but wasteful of powder. An’ it’s a messy 
death, after all.” 

The man’s breath came in quick gasps. “Teach, 
you’re wrong! I took his money for you! I were 
going to-” 

“You’re goin’ to go to the devil, your master, 
with a lie on your lips, eh? No. You’re dead 
already. I’m just decidin’ exactly how you died.” 

“I think you’re the devil yourself, you an’ your 
foul black beard.” 

“Then the devil is Ed Teach, an’ we’re even, me 
an’ him. Steady, there! No tricks, or I’ll blow 

your bloody heart out. Steps again-” 

“I—I can’t walk any farther. My limp pains—” 
“You’re not walking the plank yet. Go ahead.” 
“The wharf’s all rotted—I can feel it givin’—” 
“As rotten for me too. We’ll stop soon enough 
—this is the last level-” 








28 


FOLLY 


“It’s slimy, Teach—I’ll slip-” 

“As slimy for me too. Heh! There’s help, off 
to your right. I knew the moon—” His voice 
stopped, his eyes bored the gray murk where the 
culprit crouched. His eyes glittered, his face 
twisted more horribly, in the wan light of the low 
moon. “You nasty ditch-scum! Another dirk in 
your hand—goin’ to knife me, eh? Pass it over 
_?? 

Murden’s left hand reached out, the handle of 
the dirk toward Teach; his face lidded in contri¬ 
tion. As Teach was about to grasp it, with tre¬ 
mendous speed he flung the arm upward, the naked 
blade poising above the Blackbeard’s startled 
face. Down the steel tore toward its goal, while 
Murden’s lips gutturalled black joy at the turn of 
fortune. 

Like thought, Teach acted. His pistol hand 
clenched below the wrist that held the dirk, his 
empty left hand tore at the other’s throat. Mur- 
den was strong with desperation; a wild lunge 
almost threw off the great, punishing claws. Both 
slipped sideways on the slimed boarding; Teach 
first thudding to his knees, and dragging Murden 
slowly down to the same posture before him. They 
were strained in dreadful deadlock a few seconds; 
then silver beads of sweat oozed out of the younger 
face, and a groan was tortured out of Murden’s 
lips. 

“You’re breakin’ my arm-” 





THE BRISTOL TIDE RISES 


29 


“Drop the knife-” 

A groan, and it thumped heavily on the wharf. 
It slid in silent grace to the edge of the planking 
above the water, and disappeared. 

Teach scrambled to his feet, his grip still holding 
the other twisted down before him. “I’ve a mind 
to end you here an’ now-” 

“I swear to God-” 

“Get up, an’ walk. We’re almost there-” 

Sullenly the other obeyed, smoothing his 
strained hand, his face warped in pain. Step by 
step he continued backward, on this last damp 
level above the water. The low, round moon 
washed the scene with a sickly smoulder of gold. 

“Ain’t this far enough?” 

“End of the pier. Steady! What-” 

Suddenly the man before him sank to his knees 
again, as if a great hand had yanked him down; a 
wild scream came from his lips. There was no 
attack in his attitude; his hands pressed with all 
his force against the pier’s planking, while he 
struggled as if caught in a huge vise below. 

“I’ve fallen in, Teach—this hole— I can’t pull 
up! Reach me a hand-” 

A sardonic smile grew slowly above and below 
the great black beard. “Come on, lift yourself, 
man-” 

“I’m caught, Teach—the wood’s rotten on top, 
and firm under. My whole leg—I can’t—Reach 
me a hand, I say!” 









30 


FOLLY 


“Come on, pull yourself out. We’ve got farther 
to go-■” 

The man strained and writhed, with no success. 
“You’ve got to aid me-” 

Philosophically Teach sat himself on the bottom 
level of the last row of steps, half a dozen feet 
away. Pulling out a long black pipe, he crammed 
it with strong twist. With painstaking care he lit 
it, and puffed contentedly without speaking. Mur- 
den’s appealing eyes were fast to his every move¬ 
ment. 

“Will you reach me a hand?” 

“Quite a moon,” Teach observed. “Me an’ you 
has seen a lot of full moons together, Murden. 
Funny to think this is the last, eh?” 

“Hurry, Ed-” 

“The water smells nice, too. Smells of Jamaica, 
an’ the Caribbees; smells of the Tortugas, doesn’t 
it?” 

“For God’s sake-” 

The harsh voice drawled casually on. “Mighty 
few boats stirrin’, this white night. There’s the 
Black Nan , just down the Gorge.” 

“Teach, I beg you-” 

“By now, our bale’s delivered on board. Sorry 
you didn’t do it yourself, eh?” 

“For the devil’s sake-” 

“Well, what will you have, for my sake?” 

“Will you give me a hand?” 

“Not I!” 








THE BRISTOL TIDE RISES 


31 


A more open horror settled on the face of the 
trapped man. “You wouldn’t shoot me here, like 
a wolf caught in a trap?” 

“A rat in a trap, you said? No, I won’t have to 
shoot you. You’re out of my hands.” He puffed 
lazily, staring off at the dim gray horizon. 

“You won’t— You mean you won’t kill me?” 

“That’s just what I meant to say. Your master, 
the devil’s, got you, got you fast! I won’t have to 
lay finger on you.” 

“What do you mean, Ed Teach? I don’t like 
your strange looks there-” 

“You’ll know soon enough.” 

There ensued a slow quarter of an hour of wait¬ 
ing. The long pipe sent up quiet volleys of smoke, 
that eddied low along the wharf, and occasionally 
misted around the head and face of the caught 
man. 

At length his voice whined out, “I’m wet, 
Teach—wet to my bloody waist.” 

“You’ll be wetter.” 

“Give me a hand, Teach! Then you can kill 
me, like a decent crimp.” 

“No. Not I. Providence—the devil’s provi¬ 
dence—has taken you out o’ hands o’ mine.” 

“What do you mean, you—you devil?” 

“Listen— Don’t you know now?” 

“I hear nothin’.” 

“Nothin’?” 

“Nothin’, I said—absolutely nothin’.” 



32 


FOLLY 


“Then nothin’ will kill you,” with a deep 
chuckle, not good to hear. 

After a pause, a scared voice, “Teach!” 

“Listen again. Still nothin’?” 

“—But the water.” 

“You want more than that?” The voice purred 
its great easy menace. 

There was another silence. Then, like a gasped 
explosion, it came: “Teach, it’s full moon—it’s 
spring tide!” 

“You ain’t such a zany, man.” 

“The water’s up to wharf level awready!” There 
was panic in the rushing tones. 

Teach leaned toward him, his voice croaking. 
“An’ comes up eighteen feet, eh? Matter of 
eighteen feet or so. An’ you ain’t that tall, Mur- 
den. Not that tall. Why should / kill you?” 

Desperately the held man threshed his arms 
about, seeking somehow to squirm free. Panting 
in racked sobs, he spoke again. “You won’t leave 
me here to drown, like a trapped rat, Teach?” 

“Rat is right. No, I won’t leave you. It’s a 
quick tide. You’ll drown before I leave.” 

“You—you devil!” 

Carefully the other man knocked out his pipe, 
and stuffed it full again. Again he lit it, and 
watched the smoke circle up lazily toward the pale 
sky. He gestured toward the other man. “Could 
you ask a nobler death, now, Murden? The great 
Atlantic narrowed into Bristol Channel, an’ Bristol 


THE BRISTOL TIDE RISES 


33 


Channel narrowed into the Gorge, all to float your 
craft away? Would you have me move you to 
Chepstow, where the Wye lifts fifty feet at spring 
tide? Would you have me bring you back at the 
neap, where you’d have but a paltry six foot o’ 
water to drown in? Man, you’re drownin’ like a 
king!” 

The other’s eyes were shut, to hide away the 
damp horror creeping upon him. “Devil, devil, 
black devil,” his lips continued to chatter. 

“What a sightable spot the Gorge is, Murden— 
Bully Murden as was—at the full o’ the moon! 
There’s silver netted in the riggin’s, an’ nestin’ on 
the tops an’ the high spars—see it in those boats 
anchored in the roads, an’ even out in the offing. 
Even those fouled old warehouses washed with 
embers of silver—you’re dyin’ like a king! An’ 
die you must, for you broke Article Seven of the 
Crimps’ Rules, clear an’ open, an’ you know 
death is named for you there. Look at the moon 
on those whitecaps, Murden— No, the ones 
further out.” 

“Leave me die in peace.” 

Slowly Teach rose, shaking his immense frame 
with burly grace, and yawning out his arms with a 
comfortable smile. “I’ll have to climb up a 
couple of steps—it’s damp already here, under¬ 
foot. You won’t mind my movin’ a mite up, will 
you? You can still beg me to pull you out-” 

“0, I beg you-” 




34 


FOLLY 


The voice crooned serenely on, “—An’ the 
more you beg, the happier I am to refuse.” 

A strange change came over the face of the 
trapped man; eyes glared above ghastly cheeks, 
voice spoke with a new, throbbing intensity. “Ed¬ 
ward Teach, you spawn of hell, I’ll haunt you till 
your dyin’ day for this foul night’s work. I’ll 
come back to you, wakin’ or sleepin’— I’ll make 
you shiver, I’ll-•” 

“Make Ed Teach shiver? You haven’t life 
enough to ha’nt a cat. It takes a man to make a 
decent ghost. It’s a dirty way to die, I grant you, 
Murden; you earned it by livin’ dirty. Every 
man’s got it in him, he can live clean or dirty, just 
as he culls. We’re crimps, both of us; I’m a clean 
crimp, an’ you’re a dirty one. I never left a part¬ 
ner, or sold him out, or took gold to let a man go 
—an’ I never will. You couldn’t find my con¬ 
science, if you cut me open, it’s that black; but it’s 
polished an’ shinin’ black, just like my beard. 
You couldn’t ha’nt me.” 

There was a long silence, broken only by the 
hissing, gurgled lapping of the water. Teach, with 
a satisfied look at the other man, went two steps 
higher. The lower level of the wharf was already 
covered with a darkening film of sea; the little 
waves came up blackly, sniffed at the edge of the 
planking, stuck out their foamy white tongues to 
touch the man held there. 



THE BRISTOL TIDE RISES 35 

Another cry from the inner depths. “It’s wet 
to my breast, Teach.” 

“Eh, too quick, too quick. You’re dyin’ easy. 
For such as what you done, we might roast you over 
a slow fire; that’s what Kidd done to a man sold 
him out to the authorities. We might prick you an’ 
leave you to bleed to death, the Portugee way; or 
keel-haul your foul carcass. You’re dyin’ easy.” 

“Pull me out, an’ maroon me somewheres, in the 
name of black hell!” 

“Maroonin’s for the black gentry; you ain’t 
man enough to h’ist the pirate flag. No, you’re 
well ended as it is, barrin’ it’s too quick.” 

“—Up to my neck, Teach!” 

“An’ I thought that neck was made to be 
stretched out—to be hanged like a dog, an’ sun- 
dried. Murden,” a chatty friendliness in the tone, 
“I been watchin’ the moonlight silver against you. 
It breaks like gars or porpoises. I wish you could 
see it; it’s too pretty a death for such as you.” 

“For the love of Christ, Teach!” 

“—An’ the devil.” 

The water was now wetly fingering the face of 
the trapped man. Suddenly the head fell dully 
forward, without a sound, until only the dark mop 
of hair was visible. There should be a final cry, 
Teach reflected; but no further cry came. A man 
might at least keep his head up to the last minute, 
and even then hold his hand out of the water. If 


36 


FOLLY 


he were dying that way, now— But not Murden; 
probably fainted off, like a sleazy wench. 

The wavering mop of dark hair was hardly to 
be seen now; it bobbed gently, as the low waves 
broke over it. The black beard moved up two more 
steps, and then a third, picking a comfortable seat. 
When he looked again, he saw nothing but the gray- 
washed expanse of waters. There was a darkish 
shadow—the man had been there— No, it was a 
bit closer— It was not there. 

Slowly Teach stretched his limbs, and rose to 
his feet. The extra dirks he fitted into his belt, 
and stowed the five gold sovereigns more firmly into 
his pouch. He filled his pipe again, lit it, and 
turned his back on the moonlit quietude of waters. 
Up to the head of the wharf he climbed, and so on 
into the mounting darkness of Bilge Lane. 

He wondered idly what it felt like: dying. And 
how a man would go about trying to be a haunt. 
Must be a weakish, puny sort of thing, flitting 
and flopping about without a body, where you 
couldn’t even rightly touch a thing; hard, that is. 
Scaring women and children! Down there with 
the crabs— A good swig of Bristol milk, now, 
would go down right. He mustn’t slip seeing 
Bloody Pett, and collecting for that live cargo- 

When he turned from Bilge into Link Lane, he 
stopped suddenly, lifting his nose as if to smell the 
air—to smell some disturbance in it somewhere. 
It reached him as a hostile scent reaches an animal. 



THE BRISTOL TIDE RISES 


37 


Something was amiss. For one bristling moment 
he wondered if it could be the spirit of Murden, 
come so soon to annoy him. No; not that. The 
man’s spirit was drowned with his body. It was 
something—something else. He listened pain¬ 
fully. 

It came to him now—a confused distant tumult, 
not loud, but threatening and intense. Far ahead, 
in the faint, moonlit obscurity, he located the 
source of the disorder. It must be about the Hogs¬ 
head Tavern—yes, it was there. Could it be a 
fire? There was the golden stain of flames on 
the walls— No, it must be from torches. There 
were men, many men, in front of the tavern. What 
could be stirring so openly in the Gorge at this 
dead hour? 

Stepping with careful speed, he drew closer and 
closer to the scene of the confusion. Yes, there 
were men, a large cluster of them, there under the 
flicker of lifted links. He made out with a noise¬ 
less outer group of dark figures, that swirled closer 
and closer toward the open door. As he neared, 
he recognized the cloaked figures of the watch be¬ 
yond the door—port watch, and those of the inner 
city too. In their midst the bright attire of men 
of importance. Behind and before them was the 
dumb crowd retched up by the dark Gorge. 

Well sheltered by the circle of dark figures in 
front of him, he wormed nearer and nearer. Now 
he made out the man who was talking to the watch, 


38 


FOLLY 


in a loud bullying tone—evidently some man of 
note, from the jewel and tissue on his coat. What 
he was saying Teach could not make out; he tried 
to get close enough to overhear. There was a 
woman beside the man, too—some grand lady, 
from the richness of her attire: a comely, high- 
spirited face, Teach noted with approval. 

She was saying something pleadingly to the 
man with the big manner, although the black beard 
still could not make her words out of the confusion. 
The crowd around the watch suddenly shifted. 
The imposing man took three decided steps down 
the lane toward the water; his associates eddied 
behind him. To right and left the alarmed crowd 
melted away in front of Teach, flattening against 
the side walls. He, having less of fear than most 
men, kept his place, a scornful sneer on his black 
face. 

A moment later, he regretted his rashness. One 
of the watch from the inner city, whom Teach 
knew, suddenly broke out in excited cry, pointing 
a long arm straight at the crimp: “There he 
is!” 

“What-” 

“Where?” 

Out of the quick babel, the voice of the watch¬ 
man rose to a shriek. “I see him, I tell you— 
Teach! There he is, right there!” 

“After him!” A thunder of insistence from the 
great bullying figure. 



THE BRISTOL TIDE RISES 


39 


A smile, as brief and startling as summer light¬ 
ning, shot over the crimp’s face, and left it scarred 
into a sneer. With a sweep of his long arms, he 
caught the two nearest men, and dashed their 
heads together, flinging the tangle of bodies and 
arms and legs upon the ground. Against this liv¬ 
ing reef the first leaping pursuers collided and 
stumbled, adding to the sudden wall of safety. 
Teach’s lips sounded high above the tumult the 
queer eerie whistle that summoned his crowd, as 
he sprang twistingly away down the dark lane. 

4 ‘After me!” he taunted over his shoulder. 

As he reached the first side lane, he threw a 
steady glance backward, to read the situation. 
They were free at last, pox on it—after him the 
whole procession streamed in headlong confusion. 

Well, this way would do as well as any. He 
swung himself into the deeper darkness. 

“I seen him!” 

“There he goes!” 

After him the hue and cry grew louder, fiercer. 


CHAPTER III 
Out of the Gorge 

Isaac Scattergood walked slowly home from 
Fourth Day evening meeting, at just the hour that 
Will Leigh had turned down into Link Lane deep 
in the Gorge. He stepped from the narrow street 
into his yard, walking cautiously over the place 
where the paving had given, and that horse had 
fallen and broken his leg no later than last Fourth 
Day. Meditatively he shook his head, like any 
sober Quaker, in pious vexation at the ills with 
which Providence had seen fit to inflict him. Were 
any of the Friends, indeed, so troubled? Item, 
young Isaac had not been at meeting; item, Pru¬ 
dence had answered with a touch of pertness at 
evening meal, and Folly Leigh—what was there 
about Folly that did not irk him! In return for his 
kindness to Jane Godham, on her deathbed she 
had willed over to him the care of the girl and 
her brother, until her relatives, her great relatives 
in London, were ready to receive the children. 
From the moment that Folly had entered the 
orderly Scattergood household, all had been topsy¬ 
turvy. 

He was met at the door by Mary, his wife. 
“How was the meeting, Isaac?” 

“It went well—a blessed silence for almost an 
40 


OUT OF THE GORGE 


41 


hour. Then Will Upham, the joiner, was moved 
of the inner light to speak on election. A zealous 
young convert; it heartened me to hear him sum¬ 
mons this evil generation to repent, or bum in the 
lake of endless brimstone. But where is young 

Isaac? He was not there-” 

“With Folly, I suppose; the young ones were 
chattering and folderolling profane songs not an 
hour ago.” 

“Has thee not sent the maid to her bed?” 

“0, Isaac, as well ask if I have sent night to 
bed, or bid the rocks sprout wings! Can one make 
Folly do anything against her whim?” 

“If thee would be firm with her-” 

“Here she comes now, with the children tailing 
her, as ever.” The prim wife smiled tolerantly. 
“Thee try being firm with her, for a change.” 

A gay laugh, that seemed to sway the candles 
in their sockets, and she swung into the room. 
There was a stem look on the elder man’s face, and 
a motherly fret on his wife’s; but, in the picture 
they saw, there was nothing to call forth sternness 
or care. She stood poised within the door, her 
head thrown back as she laughed; the sweet curve 
of her neck flashed back the candlelight. She was 
tall, for a girl, and as slim as a boy, and straight 
as a tulip-tree. Her mobile mouth, indeed all her 
features, were delicately firm and strong; under 
a crown of wistful brown hair, her blue eyes 
gleamed with eerie beauty and directness. 




42 


FOLLY 


She spoke—the last and loveliest of her graces. 
“I’m sorry, good people—were you talking? I 
had to laugh—poor Isaac was so shocked—” Per¬ 
suasive, seductive, her tones were tunes; her 
charm of speech won all who listened—except, of 
course, Friend Scattergood and his wife, who were 
ever on the lookout for seductive devices of the 
evil one. 

“Shocked? Thee says he was-” 

“Oh, at nothing, I assure thee. I was just tell¬ 
ing him what Eddie Innis had told Will and me— 
you know, sweet young Viscount Innis of Innis- 
court, who’s growing so fastidious and sensitive 
that it’s a mere agony to watch him lift a dainty 
handkerchief to his nose, poor thing—he wasn’t 

always that way, of course-” 

“Thee are very roundabout, Folly.” 

“Oh, it was nothing. Eddie had told us about 
a great ball at White Hall, at which the second 
Charles led the first country dance, with the call 

"Cuckolds all awry’-” 

“Folly! How can thee-” 

“Oh, everyone knows about it,” she plunged 
brightly ahead. “Good old Charlie told them all 
that it was the oldest dance of England. And I 
told Innis the call was royal autobiography; and 
he said-” 

""Folly Leigh,” said the old Quaker sternly, 
""this is enough. Folly is thy name, and folly thy 
nature! It is an evil hour for England when her 







OUT OF THE GORGE 43 

daughters yawp of Eddies and Charlies, and foul 
their mouths with ‘cuckold’.” 

“It is not a sweet hour for England, Isaac Scat- 
tergood, when kings and princes of England make 
cuckolds of the men of their land! Only yesterday 
Innis told me-” 

“Peace, peace. No wonder young Isaac blanched 
at thy words! Thee and thy brother-” 

“Oh, where is Will?” She was off at once on a 
gay tangent, her blue eyes softening with a wist¬ 
ful pucker. “He promised me to walk an hour, 
and no more. Is he returned?” 

“I have not seen the boy,” grudged Isaac. 

“It’s no way of his to overstay himself another 
hour. Where can he be? Perhaps at Uncle West¬ 
port’s-” 

“Thee has not spoken to that godless man, 
child!” Mary, the mother, spoke out of her 
mother heart. 

Folly’s chin tilted adorably. “That godless 
man, dear Aunt Mary, is my uncle the Earl of 
Westport, the greatest peer in the kingdom—Will 
says so, and he is wrong in so many things, he may 
just as well be right in this. No later than today 
Will had audience with him, and tomorrow—to¬ 
morrow—” she clapped her hands in delight, “we 
go to London with him and his lady! He has 
promised it all to Will; kinsmen, he told him, do 
not grow on mulberry bushes.” 

“But his name is an evil reek from Weymouth 





44 


FOLLY 


to Tweed. Surely some soberer relative-” 

“My aunt spoke well of him, Friend Isaac; and, 
at that, we have decided, Will and I. If the boy 
is there-” 

Prudence, the daughter, stepped slightly for¬ 
ward, a mysterious glow in her somber eyes. “I 
know where he went, dear Folly.” 

“Well?” 

“He purposed to walk an hour into the mouth 
of the Gorge, he told me; binding me to whisper 
nothing of his intention. It is more than that now, 
alas.” 

“The Gorge! And he has not returned?” 

Isaac Scattergood faced the situation straightly. 
“The Gorge is the abode of the evil one, the spet 
stews of the world. There is no villainy strange 
to it. If Will Leigh has gone there, he has pledged 
his soul to the devil, and I wash my hands of him!” 

“I’ll wring the neck of any, devil or otherwise, 
that touches him!” Folly tensed herself like a war¬ 
rior maid. “I’ll go into the Gorge after him, and 
presently! Will thee come, cousin Isaac?” 

_9? 

The father interrupted, a wry smile twisting his 
face. “My son, lock the froward chit in her room, 
if she persists in this insane folly.” 

“I’ll—I’ll—” her lips trembled a trifle, then 
hardened to a straight, thin line. “He is my 
brother, and I will—I’ll get out, some way, and 






OUT OF THE GORGE 


45 


“Have you no self-restraint, no sense of what 
is becoming at all? No woman can go into the 
Gorge, and come out without draggled skirts.” 
“Oh, if I were only a man! No; I will show 

what woman can be. Cousin Isaac, will you-” 

“I forbid your accompanying the madcap on 
this wild jaunt, Isaac.” 

“Oh, if you were— I’ll go straight to Uncle 

Westport; surely he will-” 

Behind his father’s back, Folly saw young Isaac 
making intricate signals, laying his finger upon 
his lips, and nodding profusely. Like a flash she 
caught it. Her eyes widened once, then narrowed. 
Her tone softened persuasively. “I go to my 
kinsman Westport, Uncle Isaac; my brother may 
be in danger-” 

“At this hour—through Bristol streets-” 

“My brother may be in danger.” She spoke 
with aloof finality. “Adieu. My cloak, Prudence 


No protest, he saw, would avail; the stern 
Quaker strode into an inner room, almost stamp¬ 
ing in exasperation. With a bewilderingly be¬ 
witching curtsey to the three who remained, Folly 
made for the door, and swung out upon the dark¬ 
ened street. As she left, young Isaac thought, she 
took with her the light. 

For a moment she faced the murk blankly. She 
had no idea where Westport lay; and she knew the 
crouching fangs of the city. But, even if she had 







46 


FOLLY 


not received young Isaac’s signal, she would have 
gone on. Prayer might not move mountains these 
tepid days; but determination could slice through 
them. 

Sure enough, before she had covered half of the 
square, she heard the young Quaker’s hurrying 
feet at her heels. As she slowed up, they caught 
up with her—not only Isaac, but Prudence as 
well, her eyes demurely sparkling. 

“Good. You know the way, Isaac?” 

“I can ask-” 

Tentatively they made for the comer, eyes alert 
for one of the watch, who might give the desired 
word. But their search, it turned out, was not 
needed. Before they reached the turn, a stain of 
light washed the dark, silent houses, and a march¬ 
ing company under torches turned into the nar¬ 
row way. The three young people shrank back 
into a depression in the walls, their eyes on the 
unusual group, ready for trouble, if trouble came. 

Suddenly Folly darted forward into the middle 
of the street, leaving the two young Quakers gawp¬ 
ing after her. 

“Westport!” her voice sang out triumphantly. 
“Uncle Westport!” 

The two head torchbearers stood aside, the two 
men at arms gave way, as she stopped in front of 
the central figure. Stephen, Lord Colford, Earl of 
Westport, Viscount of Satterleigh, Baron Hark- 
ness, Knight of the Bath, Lord Great Chamberlain 



OUT OF THE GORGE 


47 


of England, was at this time in his forty-seventh 
year. Young Isaac Scattergood had heard of his 
distinguished progress, as of the doings of some 
great swaggerer on an English Olympus. As Folly 
called the name, his eyes glued themselves on the 
great man in the flesh. He saw a tall, sturdy 
fighter, with a great grizzled head disdainfully set 
upon broad shoulders. He was clothed magnifi¬ 
cently in a velvet coat of golden apricot, trimmed 
with azure; his waistcoat, of velvet too, was cherry 
colored; breeches and stockings were of gold silk, 
and his gold shoes were buckled in sapphires and 
rubies. 

The nobleman’s eyes kindled with admiration at 
the apparition of loveliness that the night had con¬ 
jured up before him. 

“By the devil’s wife, fair Mistress, I am proud 
to have so fair a thing as yourself stop my way! 
By God, you’d blossom in any court in the 
world! How may I serve you? Say but your 
word-” 

She was not so much awed at the magnificence, 
as taken aback at the unexpected speedy termina¬ 
tion of her quest. “Uncle Westport-” 

“Uncle, dear lady! You cannot be the helpless 
young sister of my young kinsman, Will Leigh 

A low, sweet curtsey; the blue eyes held him 
from under lifted lashes. “I am Folly Leigh, my 
Lord.” 





48 


FOLLY 


“Of all the winds of godly chance! I came to 
seek you this instant-” 

“And I to seek your Lordship.” 

Both bowed with stately ceremony. “Mistress 
Folly,” he spoke with abrupt vigor, “I have this 
night received evil news concerning your young 
brother. A man-” 

“Evil news!” 

“Ay. A man of mine saw him struck down by a 
crimping gang, led by some misguided son of a 
mizard named Leach, or Veach-” 

“Teach, Your Lordship—Edward Teach,” 
prompted one of the watch at his side, a man 
cloaked in black. 

“I’ll do the teaching, plague take him, before I 
finish with the black rogue. I came to notify you, 
before proceeding down to Severn Mouth, and re¬ 
covering the youth.” 

“Good. Now that we are met, we can go right 
ahead,” she ordered crisply. 

“I shall,” he retorted pointedly. “Shall I have 
you sent back to your residence—or, better, to my 
palace, where my lady will see that everything is 
done for your comfort? That would be better 

_9? 

“That will be admirable,” she corrected with 
sweet firmness, “as soon as we have rescued dear 
Will. Shall we go ahead?” 

“But you— You cannot— A maid like you 






OUT OF THE GORGE 


49 


was not made for midnight alarms and the clash 
of stark steel. I will send you-” 

“A maid like me,” she assured him simply, “was 
made for far more, I suspect, than Your Lordship 
dreams of. I go along. Will you give the word?” 

“Well, I’ll be eaten! You’re quite a woman.” 

“My two friends,” she amended gently, “had best 
return to their father; they have risked much to 
come thus far with me. I’ll see you both again”— 
giving her hands to both and her lips to Prudence. 

“Good. Give the word, Henry.” Gesturing 
Folly to his side, and leaving Isaac and Prudence 
staring owl-eyed from the side of the street, West- 
port stepped forward, and the stern march was 
resumed. 

As they passed down endless dark narrow lanes, 
the nobleman explained to the girl what little he 
knew of the mischance to Will. Tom Hunnicutt, 
one of his indentured men, had been given three 
days’ leave to visit his wife; and, it seems, the man 
had commenced spending his offing down the 
Gorge, with some disreputable cronies. He had 
been drinking in a tavern, the Hogshead, when he 
saw a great ugly black man and another strike 
down a well-clad youth in front of the opened door, 
and had seen them drag in the body and dump it 
upon the floor of the next room. As their inert 
burden was carried past him, he saw, to his horror, 
that it was the young kinsman of his master, whom 



50 


FOLLY 


he had admitted to the nobleman’s presence only 
the day before. What could he do against the 
two men? he pleaded; especially as all in the 
Hogshead were Teach’s crimp-mates. So he had 
rushed back the word; and had admitted further 
that he knew the name of the ugly black man, one 
Edward Veach or Beech- 

“Teach,” corrected Folly gently, hanging with 
wide eyes on every word of the story. 

“Teach or Screech, he is the villain we are to 
get. There was mention of a Black Nan, Hunnicutt 
said, on which they were to take the boy. With all 
this news, we’ll get him, and no fear.” 

“Here are the Port Watch, sir,” said the obse¬ 
quious city watchman, venturing up behind the dis¬ 
tinguished man. In a few crisp sentences, West- 
port explained what he wanted: Will Leigh re¬ 
turned, and Teach, dead or alive. 

The head of the Watch, a constable who named 
himself Giles Camford, shook his head dolefully. 
Much as he regretted not being able to oblige the 
distinguished Londoner, this was Bristol, and it 
was as much as his life was worth to venture down 
into the Gorge at night. If proper complaint was 
laid before His Majesty’s Court, which met in a 
fortnight, undoubtedly justice would be done in 
proper course. Besides, there was an error in the 
report; Teach was an honest man, a hard work¬ 
man, he could assure the other; the informant evi¬ 
dently was entirely mistaken. 



OUT OF THE GORGE 


51 


Westport stood no more of the evasive fumbling. 
“Hark ye, Master Camford,” his tongue scorched 
out with sudden harshness, “I know you, and who 
you serve. For all I know, you get your penny out 
of the blood-money of this same Teach. That 
your master, the Mayor, shares in the crimping 
profit, I know well. You get that boy for me, and 
presently, do you understand the Queen’s English? 
And that black rascal Teach as well—is that 
clear?” 

“Why, Your Lordship-” 

“And if not, hear my word: I’ll have the train- 
bands of London down on your neck before a week 
is past, with a Queen’s writ to clap you into jail 
before you can say Jack Robinson, you and your 
scurvy mayor as well! There you may rot your 
head off, for all I care. If you city swine think 
you can come it over a nobleman of the Queen’s 
own court-” 

“Of course, Your Lordship, if you wish-” 

“I more than wish it; I command it. By the 
devil’s black wife, will you do as I say?” His 
voice roared out its insistence—made all the louder 
by the appealing clasp of the girl at his arm. 

“But surely, Your Lordship. I only meant 

“Lead ahead; and haste this night’s work, or 
you’ll rue your delay till the worms have supped 
on you!” 

The darkness was cut again by the moving 






52 


FOLLY 


torches, as the augmented parade set forth down 
the Gorge. Any tendency toward delay, on the part 
of the converted Constable Camford, was met by a 
stern word from Westport; and, in due time, they 
drew up in front of the Hogshead. 

By now, Camford’s sly insistence had partially 
achieved its purpose. Over and over again he had 
represented the Hogshead as the one law-abiding 
place in the Gorge, its keeper as a scholard, a 
model of sobriety, and Teach as a godly ex-naval 
man. The very repetition carried some weight. 
The lean, studious host of the Hogshead, sum¬ 
moned by the Watch, came out, and listened civilly 
to the complaint. Folly, her hand still on West¬ 
port’s arm, noted how silently the lane before and 
behind was filled with a dark crowd of quiet, sul¬ 
len men, who stared unblinkingly at the strange 
scene. 

The host of the tavern, in staid restraint, in¬ 
sisted stoutly that no crimps were allowed within 
his walls, and that the whole story was a disordered 
dream, or an invention of the devil’s self. He had 
not seen Master Teach for three days, he said. 

If Camford’s word had impressed Westport, 
Folly had judged him differently. She did not 
like at all the sly Mongolian twist of his eyes, the 
putty-like complexion; his continued protests 
turned her away from crediting him, in the end, 
with any truth. 

She clung closer to her uncle’s arm, whispering 


OUT OF THE GORGE 


53 


in his ear, “They are both liars, good uncle. He 
was here—in these walls! I feel it deep within 
me. Make them drag out this Teach—or let us go 
to the Black Nan -” 

“It will go hard with all of you,” asserted the 
nobleman ferociously, “if you seek to deceive me. 
I’ll have the roof ripped off every hovel in this 
pest-hole, and let that round moon in, if you seek 
to smoke me in your lying sport. Where does this 
Teach lie?” 

“He is no longer in Bristol, Your Lordship,” 
said the host suavely. “He left some days ago— 
three or four, at the least. The Black Nan sailed 
at sundown, I am sure of it, or just after. I my¬ 
self, tomorrow, will see what can be learned of 
the youth you miss-” 

“We go to the harbor now!” thundered West- 
port, taking a step, and then two more, down the 
dark lane. 

The crowd, dumb and watching in front of him, 
melted away to right and left, flattening against 
the side walls, not so much crushed as waiting. 

Constable Camford, sensing trouble, nudged 
himself forward, as if to cross in front of the 
nobleman. At that moment, one of the city watch 
gave a startled cry, pointing a black arm into the 
shadows. “There—there he is!” 

“Where?” 

“There’s Teach, I tell you—right there!” 

One moment the whole group saw him, idly 




54 


FOLLY 


scornful in the center of the way. Nonchalantly 
alone, with the silvery murk behind him, he stood 
revealed in the torch glare, the pistols swung from 
the bandolier over his shoulders, the great black 
beard reaching down from his eyes, and looped up 
with ribbons over his ears. 

“After him!” thundered Westport. 

There was a wild swivet between them and the 
solitary fugitive: men tumbled from right and 
left upon the ground. Behind the melee came a 
queer haunting whistle. Then a mocking call, 
“After me!” and he was gone, leaping into the 
night. 

The procession sliced somehow through the 
tangled men on the ground, and streamed wildly 
down the narrow darkness. Twice Westport felt 
a man lurch into him from the rear, so that he 
almost lost his footing. A faint cry from Folly let 
him see that she too was being handled roughly. 
There must be friends of the crimps, he saw at 
once, in the quiet scum crowd. 

“To me, Westport!” he bellowed. His retainers, 
the torch men, the watch from the inner city, fought 
their way to his side, knocking the impeding crowd 
right and left: they had been schooled for just 
such a call. The Port Watch had oddly disap¬ 
peared, except for their head, who had been so 
deeply impressed by the nobleman’s threats that 
he clung, like a grudging shadow, on the heels of 
the other man. 


OUT OF THE GORGE 


55 


Even with the mob hemmed away, it was rough 
going—steep, muddy, a maze of crisscross pas¬ 
sages; and long ago all sight and sound of Teach 
had been lost. 

“To the quay,” commanded Westport. “We get 
the boy first and then-” 

Down into the widest of the rat-holes they 
plunged. Under one low wooden passageway, and 
startlingly the houses opened into a broad, moon¬ 
lit level, with the wharves beyond. 

“Which way?” 

A suave irony was on the constable’s face, as he 
pointed simply out into the silvery Mouth. A 
great ship, under full sail, was vaguely seen, fad¬ 
ing out beyond the offing. “The Black Nan he 
smiled regretfully. 

“And—Teach?” 

“His sloop lies at the next pier,” volunteered 
one of the inner watch, earning a black look from 
Camford. 

“Hurry—lead to it!” 

Back they ploughed to the foot of the steps, 
bent to the right, skirting a vast black warehouse, 
came to grief in a long blind alley, and at last, 
gasping and perspiring, broke clear on the right 
quay. There, at the side, lay the sloop, sail up; 
the last topgallant was bent as they watched, and 
began to draw. 

They ran straight towards her, to find their way 
suddenly stopped by a stretch of water, where the 



56 FOLLY 

pier had been divided into two long parallel fingers 
upon the stream. 

Westport stopped, glared impotently around. 
His thoughts raced: by skirting toward shore, they 
could reach the right wharf- 

And then they saw that the sloop was moving. 

“After me; out with your guns,” he ordered, 
running down the length of this finger of the pier 
toward the open water. Folly flitted like a shadow 
just at his heels. 

As he reached the end, he stopped, the girl just 
beside him, the others a half moon at his rear. The 
sloop had reached the end of its pier now, and, 
instead of tacking away from where they stood, 
turned to windward, and made a half-board. This 
brought it coasting right toward them, almost within 
leaping distance. 

By this it lost most of the slight headway it had. 
So close it came to the pursuing group, that every 
detail of the small ship could be made out. There, 
at the bow, stood Teach. He cupped his hands 
into a trumpet. “If England has no use for her 
best sons,” he thundered, “there is one flag that 
has! Let my black beard be its symbol. Men, up 
with the Jolly Roger!” 

Amid cheers from those on board, the black 
square, silvered in the moonlight, slid smoothly to 
the peak of the fore-truck. 

“Ten pounds to the man that pots him!” sud¬ 
denly roared Westport. 



OUT OF THE GORGE 


57 


“Our pistols are out,” warned Teach, “and our 
cannon primed. One shot, an’ I’ll blow the last of 
you straight to hell. We leave in peace,” he 
sneered loudly. 

“Hell’s wife,” groaned the nobleman. “We’ll 
take this to the Queen, Mistress Folly, and see 
what she will say to this flouted piracy!” 

A mocking laugh from the sloop, as she tacked 
to starboard, and picked up headway. Westport 
and the girl stood staring after her until their eyes 
stung. Then they turned reluctantly back toward 
the inner city, with London as their next goal. 


CHAPTER IV 
Off to London 

Frome Manor, which had originally been built 
by a Berkeley, was the Bristol seat of His Lordship 
of Westport. He decided that he would first take 
his young kinswoman there. 

On the way back from the lower harbor, he 
drank in such as he could of the fresh sweetness 
of the maid. More and more he marvelled at her 
beauty of face and form, her vibrant certainty of 
disposition. A high-spirited piece, without mis¬ 
take; long before they had reached the Manor, 
he had begun to bless the stars that had removed 
that pleasant young cub, Will Leigh, and had sub¬ 
stituted such a charming changeling in his place as 
Mistress Folly. 

Westport, in common with the leading men of 
early post-Restoration days, had not patterned 
his life upon any accepted saint in the Calendar. 
He had rather read widely in the narratives of the 
Roman empire, and at times entertained the whim¬ 
sical idea that he was a reincarnation of potent 
Augustus, or at least of great Julius. Not that 
their warlike and statesmanly activities especially 
held him; it was the less known private lives of the 
Romans that he modelled himself upon. Julius, he 
58 


OFF TO LONDON 


59 


recalled now, had been known as “husband of all 
women”; and he had at times apprenticed himself 
toward the same title. But with such a girl as 
Folly Leigh beside him, he decided that the old 
Roman would have spurned the general honor. 

“Is there nothing you can do?” she asked in 
some vexation, interrupting his luscious fancies. 

“What would you do, my dearest cousin, if you 
were in my place?” 

“I—I’d have ordered the Queen’s warships out, 
to get poor Will off the Black Nan , and to hang 
that rogue of a Teach from the yards of his own 
toy boat. What a weak, hateful face he had!” 

Westport chuckled slightly. “Hateful, perhaps. 
As for me, I hold a commission in the Queen’s 
land forces; devil a bit of power have I in the 
navy. If it had been my nephew, the Admiral—” 

She clung at his arm, lifting her bewitching face 
up toward his. It was all he could do to withhold 
a kiss here and now. “Your nephew—an ad¬ 
miral?” 

“Poor Chris!” His chuckle was tolerant. “He’s 
only a lieutenant on leave—Lieutenant Maynard, 
if you please, who should have been with us to¬ 
night, but that he was off on a charge of mine. 

You’ll see the boy soon enough- But even a 

lieutenant in the Queen’s navy could have done 
no more than I, with one of those testy naval 
sea-grampuses that rule Her Majesty’s wooden 
walls.” 



60 


FOLLY 


She returned to her theme. 6 ‘And there’s noth¬ 
ing you can do now?” 

There was something, he assured himself in¬ 
wardly; and that was to make this dainty bit his 
own as soon as possible. Mistress Betty Treadway 
was due a long holiday, he smiled acidly; what 
little charms she had were wearing thin, and this 
girl was nothing but charm. He could hardly 
answer her this way, however. 

“We’ll do what we can,” he condescended. “Of 
course, you’ll stay at Frome Manor tonight; and 
as long as you will. It is your home now.” 

“Will told me—the Queen-” 

He planned rapidly. The Manor was deucedly 
small, at that; and his wife, the Countess, was 
very much in evidence. The campaign needed 
elbow room. In the palace at London— “De¬ 
cidedly, yes. This week Lady Westport and I 
leave for London; it would have been tomorrow, 
but that I am stayed here a trifle. You will go 
with us, or perhaps I’ll send you on ahead, squired 
by Chris.” 

“I shall make my plea to Her Majesty,” the 
soft cheeks burned red, “and have her send her 
fleets to scour the ends of the earth, for Will!” 

“I shall present you to the Admiral of the fleet; 
if you’d pay his price, my dear, he’d do what you 
would.” 

“I’d pay any price-” 

“Any price?” 




OFF TO LONDON 


61 


“In honor, of course-” 

“The honor of the Court?” Cynically he in¬ 
sisted upon pulling her maiden spirit down to the 
sophisticated level of his own. 

“Oh, that- The Court, my dear uncle, will 

not ask of me more than I am ready to pay. You 
need have no fear on that score.” 

“I’d scour the seas for you, if I could name my 
price, plague take me if I wouldn’t!” 

“I wouldn’t see the plague take you, of course,” 
she tempted him demurely. 

“And if I could collect earnest in advance-” 

His heavy brows lowered around; the faint shim¬ 
mer of moonlight pandered, but the tramping re¬ 
tainers were too close for fame and comfort. 

“For all my name, you will find me earnest 
enough,” she punned cryptically. The simple 
words flushed his fancies, until they reached the 
street where Isaac Scattergood’s light still burned. 

At their knock, he came down to the door him¬ 
self, his lean face bleak, ascetic. In a few 
curt words Westport explained the girl’s altered 
plans. 

“If the maid has made up her mind-” 

“Of course I have, dear Uncle Isaac!” 

“Then I have no more to say. She goes with 
thee, much against my will.” The night grew 
chiller at his stern frown. “Her aunt, Mistress 
Jane Godham, was a godly woman; and I know 
naught of thee, Stephen Westport, to hold thee 






62 


FOLLY 


godly. Folly is a froward miss, and has jangled 
our orderly household excessively.” 

“Uncle Isaac!” 

“I speak in no unkindness, Folly. There is no 
room for folly, in a house lit by the Inner Light.” 
He lifted his eyes, and spoke as if he saw through 
the man and woman who faced him, and indeed 
far beyond them: there was a rapt bleakness on 
his sharp face. “In good time thee will see me 
again. Make godliness thy concern, and sober 
decorum thy daily going; or the wrath to come, 
which will char to a cinder this wicked and per¬ 
verse generation, will kindle around thy young 
head too. Repent, while there is yet time!” 

“Come, come, old man—the maid is a good 
maid,” blustered Westport uneasily. 

“Aye; still. God be praised for that! May 
each year keep her so. Fare well.” Stiffly he 
turned, and soundly the door tapped to behind 
him. 

“And I have lived with that,” said Folly simply, 
“for three months. London cannot come too soon!” 

When they reached the Manor, the Countess wel¬ 
comed the girl with a motherly caress, and packed 
her off to bed at once. Tomorrow would be time 
enough to talk. And so, in a room that seemed 
itself a palace, among velvet hangings and yield¬ 
ing painted beauties, beneath curtains of lace and 
coverlets of silk, Folly Leigh entered into her new 
estate. 


OFF TO LONDON 


63 


Sleep came slowly. Her eyes surveyed again 
the pinched days when her mother and father were 
alive, now so far gone; and the bleaker days fol¬ 
lowing, under her shrewd and vinegary aunt. 
After her, the stern Quaker had not seemed an 
essential hardship; for at least Prudence and 
young Isaac were companionable. And now, un¬ 
der the awkward wing of His Lordship of West- 
port and the gracious Countess, with a Queen’s 
receiving room at the end of the glorious way- 

She slept like a flower on a moonless June night. 

Somewhat after nine, a plain girl with a pleas¬ 
ant face roused her, informing the drowsy miss 
that she was named Hannah, and was to be her 
maid from now on. With this unaccustomed aid, 
Folly was soon attired for breakfast, and found 
her way to the low-beamed dining hall. Lost in 
its center was a small table set for four. Westport 
and his wife came in together, and at once accepted 
the girl into the family group. 

“That’s for Chris,” the Countess gestured to 
the vacant place. “He doesn’t usually sleep 
late-” 

“Nor have I today,” his voice sang gaily out, as 
he shouldered through the swaying curtains. “Up 
at six, to attend to the post horses- Oh!” 

Demurely Folly kept her eyes on her plate, and 
rose at Lady Westport’s signal to curtsey her 
acknowledgment of the introduction. The aggres¬ 
sive Chris seemed a trifle ill at ease: preserving 





64 


FOLLY 


her silence, she studied him without seeming to 
have eyes for anything but the bewildering variety 
of viands. 

Her uncle, Westport, was tall; but this young 
man was taller, with a fine open face and hair so 
light that it was almost flaxen. There was power 
in the face, power and good-humored tolerance, 
rather than apparent brilliance. He seemed some 
jovial Viking chief of older time, quite out of 
costume in his sober gray coat of dulled silk. In 
a naval costume, Folly decided, he would look 
quite overpowering; as it was, he was all of a man 
—the sort of man that any miss would pick out of 
a crowd; the sort of man that a shrewd miss could 
whistle up and down the wind at her will. His 
shoulders swayed when he talked, until the room 
and the beamed ceiling seemed to sway in sym¬ 
pathy; she had a sense of a rocking floor beneath 
her, of man’s moving habitation upon the heaving 
waters. There was a breath of the sea in his 
speech, and the blue of the deeper sea in his lev¬ 
eled eyes. 

“Your aunt and I, Chris,” began Westport pon¬ 
derously, “leave for Westport Court in three days. 
You will set out today with Mistress Leigh and Her 
Ladyship’s gossip, Mistress Blick, as well as the 
maid Hannah. I know that you will take every 
care of your fair cargo-” 

“What I can do-” 




OFF TO LONDON 


65 


“You’re forcing poor Chris to blush, Westport,” 
rallied his wife. 

“In my day, it was the women who blushed.” 
He sat back to drink in the applause for his 
wit. 

“Today is a bit topsy-turvy, Your Lordship,” 
and Folly shrugged a noticeable shoulder. 

* “He’ll be cautious enough to suit you,” contin¬ 
ued the great nobleman. 

“To suit me?” Folly paid him off neatly. 

“Damme, the girl’s got spirit; eh, Isabel? 
She’ll turn the heads of half London, if she keeps 
that up.” 

“What’s wrong with the other half?” queried 
the girl demurely. With this, the breakfast broke 
up, and the preparations for the start to London 
were hastened. 

To her relieved delight, Folly found that her 
thoughtful protectors had already sent to the Scat- 
tergood household, and that her slim worldly 
goods were already gathered and packed. 

“Never mind, my dear,” the Countess consoled 
her, “there are tiring-houses in London; we’ll have 
you robed like a princess soon enough. You’re 
sure this is all? You’re all ready, Blick? I think 
they can start, Stephen.” 

“A kiss for your relative, my dear,” he smacked 
his lips in anticipation, and made what he could of 
the rebuff of a soft cheek. “Tally Ho! Till Lon¬ 
don, then!” 


66 


FOLLY 


“And God be with thee,” benisoned Folly 
gently. And so they were off. 

Pleasant riding it was through the road lead¬ 
ing southeast of Bristol. Folly, the gossip, and 
the maid, were the sole passengers in the coach; 
Maynard rode on ahead, with three attendants, in 
view of possible dangers on the road. The coach 
was pulled briskly enough by a team of four; the 
roadway was firm and well tended. Maynard, 
eager for an excuse to see the smile that woke the 
face of the girl, like the sight of the sea after an 
hour’s hemmed struggle through dry bracken—so 
he smiled the comparison to himself—rode back 
beside the coach window, his explanation being 
that she might desire to talk about the state of the 
road. 

“I can’t believe we are really on the way,” she 
hailed him gaily. “If you knew what London 
meant to me!” 

“If I knew what it would mean to you, I might 
be easier in my mind,” he shook his head soberly. 

“My dear Lieutenant! Do we make it in three 
days?” 

“Three?” His voice soared. “If we do it in 
four, we are fortunate. More likely five; it’s all 
of a hundred and thirty miles. In the better sea¬ 
son, four; but, with the rains for the last six 
weeks-” 

“The road seems good enough,” she wondered. 

“It’s altering even now. Look! Still firm where 



OFF TO LONDON 


67 


you ride; but it’s all mud a foot beyond me; and, 
at the foot of the next steep hill, the ruts begin. 
The way is simply execrable.” 

“What are ruts and perilous descents, to a 
knight squiring a lady fair to the world’s heart, 
London? Ride forth, bold Sir Christopher, and if 
any dragon of might and mire thwart your 
way-” 

“You’re making sport of me now.” 

“I would it were not sport,” with a calculated 
melting glance in her eye. Folly had made no 
precise plan for her conquest of London, though 
this was her hidden hope. Yet she knew vaguely 
the way, and she would have been less than woman 
if she had not turned the battery of her charms 
upon this mannerable young man who rode so 
seriously and pensively at her side. 

The result to Maynard was as devastating as she 
could have wished. Unconsciously his hand tight¬ 
ened on his rein, and the horse’s head drew inex¬ 
orably nearer to the coach window. He said noth¬ 
ing; but his face, coming closer and closer, hung 
on hers, like a moth’s seeking to scale the hot 
cliff of a lamp chimney. 

And then, to her amazement, the head bobbed 
briskly downward, describing an astonishing arc, 
and then curvetted up almost out of sight. She 
could see his practiced hands, for all of his sea 
life, tightening the rein, and soothing the mettle¬ 
some mare. 



68 


FOLLY 


“Only a hole in the plagued road,” he gritted 
between clenched teeth. “Whoa there, Bonnie! 
Merely a mud hole, my lady.” 

“The first dragon,” she sighed dreamily. 

“Slaughtered,” he added significantly. “But I 
fear I shall have to ride ahead—the way is hardly 
two wheels’ width now, a ribbon of firmness on a 
gown of quagmire. I ride forward-” 

“Speed doughtily, my knight,” she teased him 
again. 

With the look of a man who held a strange 
bright bird in his awkward hands, Chris Maynard 
rode on. His face held a spell of far romance, 
that the girl saw. Without planning, her raillery 
had summoned the one high mood in him. For he 
was youth: and youth is happiest to dwell in the 
faint glamour of forgotten wonder, and to post¬ 
pone the shock of combat with reality, no matter 
how sweet its end, which is flowing water and a 
spread table to maturity. 

After a few civilities with the taciturn Mistress 
Blick, Folly turned her attention again to the 
road. One steep hill was followed by another, 
with awkward climbs between; with gaping fresh- 
washed gulleys across the way on top of the hills, 
and yielding fenlands and bogs in the valleys. 
From ahead came the querulous endearments of 
the coachman and his aid to the four straining 
horses. Even with these profane vocal caresses, it 
was all the horses could do to keep the coach run- 



OFF TO LONDON 69 

ning evenly, and, at times, to stir it at all. Truly 
it was a devil’s road. 

She felt the left wheels, both of them, slithering 
soggily farther to the left; and the coach tilting 
an abrupt trifle, before it jolted to a rest. There 
was a straining; cries from in front; Chris’s voice 
raised above those of the two drivers. She lapsed 
again into her dreams; after an over-saturation 
with them, she looked out again. They were not 
moving. Chris Maynard was nowhere to be 
seen. 

She made a motion to open the door. “I 
wouldn’t, my dear,” expostulated her companion. 

Folly, with a conciliatory smile, opened the 
door. They were not bogged, that she saw; but 
there was some trouble up ahead. She could not 
see clearly; she heard a confused bickering. One 
distasteful look at the mud below, and she decided 
at once she must hold her place of safety. At last 
she caught Chris’s dogged face, flushed from his 
vehemence, as he rode back toward the coach, a 
dozen feet ahead. She waved him gently toward 
her. 

“Nothing,” he gritted explosively. “A dratted 
stage wagon, blocking our way. I’ve told the 
plagued carrier that I’d run him through, if he 
did not draw outside the road.” 

“Into that mud?” she marvelled. 

“Into the bog, for all I care.” 

“Can I see?” 


70 


FOLLY 


“They’re ploughing by your side now. You’ll 
get more than an eyeful — not a pretty sight.” 

The straining wagon did not appear, to her dis¬ 
appointment. At length their coach got under way 
again, and then it drove by the mired freight con¬ 
veyance. The girl had a clear view of the car¬ 
rier’s lowering face, the piled goods just behind 
him, and an apathetic huddle of passengers squat¬ 
ting in the straw of the wagon. 

“Travellers—in that?” she queried idly, seek¬ 
ing to hold him in talk. 

“They have no coach, and cannot pay the stage 
fare; so they take potluck on a wagon. A clean, 
swift journey!” 

On and on the coach lurched and grumbled. At 
length it sloughed widely to the right, and came 
to rest partly across the road. This time Folly 
could not see ahead at all. The desolate road 
stretched behind, no living being in sight. Two 
horse travellers skirted to the muddy side, jaunty 
in spite of the black mire clinging to their saddle 
skirts. They gave her a mocking obeisance, took 
one look at the stiff form of Chris erect in his 
saddle, and lessened out of view. After an inter¬ 
minable pause, Chris himself rode back to where 
she sat, curbing her impatience as best she 
might. 

“Another wagon?” she asked hopefully. 

“Another dragon,” he assured her solemnly. 
“He is slain, shall I say?—but his body lies across 


OFF TO LONDON 71 

our path. We are stuck, my lady, no two ways 
to it.” 

“Well- We are stuck. Can the horses do 

nothing?” 

“Their backs are galled with straining. They 
can do no more.” 

“We spend the rest of our lives, then, domiciled 
in this muddy Eden?” 

“Is it Eden to you, too? No; what horses can¬ 
not do, kine can, I trust. I have sent on for two 
teams of cattle, from the nearest farm; ultimately 
we will be pulled out, like an ulcered tooth; like a 
finger out of taffy,” he amended, shaking his head. 

“I do not like your muddy taffy, Sir Knight; 
and—to he called a sore tooth! But—smite on, in 
Valor’s name!” 

“Look,” his voice was level and suddenly ten¬ 
der, “is that not worth being stalled for?” 

She studied the flaming copse with distasteful 
eyes, that suddenly brightened to an eager interest. 
“Deer—red deer! Look—there are more—and 
there!” 

“The coachman warned me we might see them. 
There are more than five hundred in one herd 
hereabouts, he says. Isn’t that an amazing sight!” 

“That doe, there—nibbling the late leaf buds, 
almost within a stone’s throw! This is a sight.” 

He looked over his shoulder, at a commotion in 
front. “A different cattle have arrived. By your 
leave-” 




72 


FOLLY 


After another wearisome wait, they were under 
way again. This time, she found herself flanked 
with a personal bodyguard. Half a dozen stout 
stolid hinds tramped to right and left, propping 
the coach with their arms and shoulders, and hold¬ 
ing it upright. With this strange dumb company 
they ploughed down the valley, and only saw the 
last of them when the road rose again. 

Soon enough they drew up in the yard of the 
White Bull, and she could print her feet on sward 
again. Maynard escorted her ceremoniously into 
the private room of the inn, almost forgetting the 
chaperone in his obsessing devotion. As the inn 
servants set the table for a belated meal, Folly 
stood at the window, watching the bustle in the 
inn-yard. 

“A relay of horses?” 

“And six this time,” the lieutenant expanded 
proudly. “Four have done their best—but the 
next stage, geographically at least, is far worse.” 

“This is my first journey to London, remember. 
Have you relays all the way?” 

“Twice a day, all the way to the capital. Only 
Westport could do it; he, and perhaps half a dozen 
great officers of state. Relays are for royalty; and 
the Earl stands almost that high. The innkeeper 
told me,” he continued irrelevantly, “that a coach 
foundered in that mire yesterday, overturned, and 
shook up all its passengers sorely. One serving 
woman was almost scalped, when her head was 


OFF TO LONDON 73 

thrown against the coach roof. We did well to 
have those farmhands stand by to steady us.” 

“How could you do other than well?” she ral¬ 
lied him gently. He gave her tit for tat, and the 
meal passed with gay lightness. 

There was the rumble and bustle of a new party 
in the yard, coming from the London way. Chris 
left, to make final arrangements. Folly at length 
turned to watching the dusk shadows deepen on the 
melancholy yews that stood, like woodland senti¬ 
nels, just beyond the brief sward. The wind within 
them soughed a melancholy chant; there was a 
long level moaning, like her own far sea. She 
could hardly rouse herself out of the mood of 
dejection, when Maynard appeared again. His 
long face was no tonic, she saw at once. 

“I fear we lie here tonight, my lady. The dark¬ 
ness is almost upon us, and the road ahead is noth¬ 
ing. The floods are out, I have learned, on the 
next stage.” 

“But you said you would push on to the Pipe 
and Feathers tonight! Europa may have slept 
with her White Bull; but I choose the road, and 
what lies beyond. Let’s push ahead—we’re young 
and the night’s young!” 

“Not tonight,” he nodded regretfully, “nor to¬ 
morrow either, I fear. The floods are out. Per¬ 
haps after three or four days-” 

“But—but I must get to London!” 

“What if we are a day or so behind Westport 



74 


FOLLY 


and his lady? They take the northern road, and 
that is much drier. I have talked with a very 
decent fellow who has just arrived—a naval man 
like myself—and it is impossible.” 

“Three or four days!” There was real conster¬ 
nation in her voice. “Don’t forget my brother’s 
situation; every day’s delay is added to his plight 
on that beastly ship that took him away.” 

“Judge for yourself. They were two coaches 
when they started, this man tells me; the other 
stopped at the Pipe and Feathers, unable to go 
farther. What I tell next happened between there 
and here. Crossing a swollen ford, the coach was 
swept over, and the passengers had to swim for 
their lives. Lieutenant Crossthwaite and the one 
woman and two men with him had to mount horse¬ 
back, and be conducted across meadows; the water 
well up to their saddle skirts all the damp way. 
When the coach was finally pulled through, free 
of its passengers, the men had to walk or ride half 
of a day, while the lady was carried on a litter, and 
the coach brought after them, divided into parts. 
That surely is not travelling!” 

“It may be better now. You see, we must get 
to London!” 

He shook his head firmly. “After three or four 
days-” 

“Horse back? I ride well,” she suggested hope¬ 
fully. 



OFF TO LONDON 


75 


“No, sorry as I am to refuse you anything. 
Westport told me to be cautious-” 

“Damn caution—let’s press ahead!” 

“The road’s flooded; there are highwaymen, to 
pick off solitary riders. On the heath—the big 
one we cross next—Bloody Wynne often rides. 
You’ve heard of him—he has earned that name. 
No; it is impossible.” 

“What if I refuse to piddle around half a 
week?” she flashed arrogantly at him. “What if 
I ride ahead, leaving faint-hearts behind?” 

He smiled paternally. “If you plan anything 
of that ilk, I shall lie at your door—I warn you 
I’m a light sleeper—and simply prevent it, my 
lady. After all, it is to me that Westport looks 
for your safety.” 

“You are impertinent, Lieutenant. If I decide 
to ride, I ride.” 

“Women are not allowed such liberty,” he an¬ 
swered with assurance and finality. 

“Are men?” 

He searched her face in bewilderment, for a 
key to the casual question. “A man may do what 
he dares to do; a woman must be shielded.” 

“Oh, how old you are!” she taunted him 
abruptly. “This is an age devoted to folly; and I 
am Folly. I know the custom of the old—men 
are the only triumphant ones. Under second 
Charley, women lorded it briefly: Lady Castle- 
main and Mrs. Stewart did as they willed, and all 



76 


FOLLY 


England stepped aside to watch them. Under our 
ailing Anne, we are only dolls, if you will, for 
men to cuddle when they please, and lay aside 
when they please. The old day comes in again; 
woman today will do as she wills.” 

“But you know that a woman-” 

“I know that such a woman as I has every whit 
as much right to ride over the rim of the world, as 
Rochester and Buckingham ever had. Take My 
Lord of Rochester: blowing at will upon the 
Queen’s maids of honor, eloping with his wife be¬ 
fore marrying her, writing songs to love-” 

“They are low songs, Folly; surely you have 


“They are full of life; no droning Puritan 
hymns, God be praised! With Buckingham he 
stole an inn on Newmarket Road, and turned 
tavern-keeper, making the husbands drunk, and 
tumbling the wives at his will. Oh, and a thousand 
other pleasant sports. Innis and others-” 

“You can call that pleasant?” 

“For me, no; the utter reverse. For him, yes. 
He made the world bend to his will; as I shall 
make it bend to mine. For a woman can, giving or 
withholding her favors like a queen. Perhaps I 
shall withhold forever: I do not know. But I 
will have my will, whatever it be: and I will to go 
on to London.” 

“In my time,” he repeated doggedly. 

“Heigh-ho, the wind and the rain! We shall 






OFF TO LONDON 


77 


see,” she flashed back. He sensed the curbed bit¬ 
terness without difficulty. It was a gloomy party 
that wasted the two hours till supper; and although 
Folly put on a vizard of slight raillery, Maynard 
was not to be drawn out of his glumness. Folly 
respected him for this; for all her mask of com¬ 
plaisance, she felt that he sensed somehow her 
intention, and for this she respected his sensitive 
wit. All the more she tried to hide what was in 
her head; all the more definitely he refused recon¬ 
ciliation. She had a feeling that she was under 
trial; she felt that her position was ridiculous, and 
bridled beneath. She was all the more honeyed on 
the surface; and liked Chris none the less for not 
sipping the thin bait over her intention. 

After supper, he took himself off with the other 
naval officer for an hour at dice, leaving her to 
shift with Mistress Blick. Soon enough Folly was 
yawning, and had word conveyed to her escort. He 
explained briefly that he had brought his game to 
an end, and would light her up to her room. 

She turned at the top of the stairs, to curtsey 
him a good night. She was like the Queen of 
Heaven, he thought, condescending to rain light 
from the bright stars of her eyes upon him, the 
dumb dark earth beneath. At the frozen aloof¬ 
ness behind her graceful gesture, he bowed with 
stiff pain, and watched her face, lit by the candle’s 
soft flicker, eclipse behind the stout oaken door. 

His face hardened into an unwonted sternness. 


78 


FOLLY 


He took a catlike pair of steps down the hall. 
After a moment’s fumbling before her door, as if 
uncertain whether to speak more with her or not, 
he tramped off to his own room. 

The moon was rising, a bloody wound in the 
east; she knelt to watch it, her face against the 
harsh sill. Soon the wound healed to a great round 
silver scar; the hushed world without glowed in 
silver wonder. She rose on whispering feet, her 
face set. 

Soon enough she had all ready. She held her 
breath, while she listened at the adjoining door, 
where Mistress Blick slept serenely. The inn was 
all quiet: only the multitudinous stirring of the 
silver world without was still alive. On whisper¬ 
ing feet she stepped to the door, and turned the 
knob without a sound. Quietly she pulled the 
door toward her. 

It did not budge. 

More carefully she tested it; it held firm. Up 
and down, to right and left, she strained it; her 
ear caught the faint click, as the bolt of the lock 
met the plate within the stout door jamb. 

Of all the impertinences! He had locked the 
door upon her, while she was unnoticing! 

She stood fronting the door, her eyes closed, one 
hand cupped tensely over the other. Then her 
eyes lit like the night without; she floated silently 
over to the window. Gently she raised the sash. 
Hmm- A good dozen feet; but there were 



OFF TO LONDON 


79 


heavy ivy leaves all the way, still black green, 
for all the turning season. She tested the vine to 
the side of the window: as thick as her finger, it 
held without difficulty. Well, if needs must, she 
would! 

Swinging a leg across the sill, she eased herself 
slowly down, hand over hand, feet securely nest¬ 
ing in the locked stems of the vine. Down, down 
—until a swinging step found firm sward beneath 
her. 

She had done it! 

Adjusting herself hurriedly, she skulked toward 
the back of the inn, hugging close to the protecting 
wall. The night was far too light to risk the chance 
of a restless eye from above. She stopped sud¬ 
denly, as a puzzling noise reached her from the 
rear. 

Then a smile, as she made out the sound of a 
bellows, and of thudded strokes. Someone work¬ 
ing still, at this inhuman hour. Before her swung 
a heavy gate; confidently she pulled it inward, and 
walked through. 

The inn farrier looked up in surprise. She 
ignored this easily. “Will you saddle my horse 
for me? I am to push on, with a company that 
has just gone ahead.” 

“Which horse, lady?” he owled stupidly. 

She held her voice level, in spite of her delight. 
“The chestnut mare, with the white star on her 
forehead. I will show her to you-” 



80 


FOLLY 


Obediently the yokel led the way; without diffi¬ 
culty she picked out the intelligent face of Bonnie. 
She stood by, while the man fitted saddle and 
bridle, and tightened them efficiently. It was a 
relief to note that the lieutenant’s two pistols were 
negligently swung in the saddle holsters. 

“Thank you, my man.” A palmed coin, and 
she had vaulted to the saddle. The mare, as chafed 
at the inaction as the girl was, whinnied softly, and 
set herself for orders. A low cluck, and they were 
out of the stable, upon the velvety sward to the 
far side of the inn. With a bright bow to the 
astonished farrier, she stuck spurs daintily in the 
mare’s flank, and kited around the corner of the 
drive, bearing under the tree shadows all the way. 
Not until she was a hundred rods from the inn did 
she dare take the center of the road. 

Well, here she was, off for London once again. 
Let Chris Maynard whistle for her, when the cocks 
crew; he would have to whistle shrilly, to reach her 
ears! What were floods, highwaymen, and the 
anonymous dangers of the dark, when a maid’s 
heart beat toward the court of the Queen? 

She set the mare at an easy lope down the long 
slope in front of her. The caged bird was out 
again; the world was a road beneath her horse’s 
feet. 


CHAPTER V 
Bloody Wynne 

It was a wild and desolate decline down which 
she was pushing. The moon at first made the go¬ 
ing beautiful. But as the road slipped farther and 
farther into the lush vale before her, the way 
ahead darkened, the friendly light crept reluc¬ 
tantly up the boles of the trees, until it leapt up¬ 
ward from the topmost branches, and was at last 
only a gray streak seen between towering walls of 
living blackness. So far the track had been firm 
enough; but two slight stumbles of her mare 
taught her that the going was roughening, and she 
drew down to a walk. Confidently the mare picked 
her way. 

It was an eerie journey, she soon confessed to 
herself; but she felt more at ease that the way was 
deserted. Bad enough to have the dismal calling of 
the owls and night birds ululating hollowly through 
the sighing murk; human night-fowl would have 
been far worse. 

Abruptly she drew rein, and listened, her body 
tense. A noise—a roaring far tumult. She pushed 
on more quietly, half sure already what it was. The 
sound grew subtly closer: it was water, of course 
81 


82 


FOLLY 


—some river, unnamed to her, that had poured its 
flood to balk glittering Norman conquerors, that 
had barred the way to sturdy Roman civilizers, 
that had chanted its pouring song long before 
the first gaunt savage had skulked darkly among 
the dim shadows of an England long buried in liv¬ 
ing memories. 

Closer and closer it came. The mare was in 
difficulty now, turning a puzzled head back to her 
mistress—Folly could tell this from the feel of 
the slackened rein. At the maid’s encouraging 
sign, the mare pushed ahead with borrowed confi¬ 
dence. 

Now it was just before her—the river bank it¬ 
self. The stream was invisible in the dark; the 
altered timber of its song published its presence. 
The mare whinnied disconsolately. 

The girl stopped again, to consider the situation. 
The chanted brawl sounded ill. Yet it must be 
the ford; and what others could cross under sun, 
she could and would cross in darkness. 

She leaned forward on the neck of the mare, 
whispering into her ear. “You wouldn’t disgrace 
me now, Bonnie, would you? If we wait, he may 
catch up, before day; he’d stop us, Bonnie, if he 
could; and we want to get to London, to the Queen, 
Bonnie, the Queen! Go on, Bonnie, good Bon¬ 
nie—” 

An insistent cluck, and the mare stepped down 
into the flood. 


BLOODY WYNNE 


83 


A few steps, and the mare was swimming easily. 
Folly drew her legs up as high as she dared, shifted 
the pistols to keep them dry, and trusted in the 
providence that guards the children of folly. She 
held the mare’s head upstream with a tightened 
rein; the current was overstrong. 

The damp journey seemed endless. Yet be¬ 
fore her was the end, as she could tell by the 
louder bicker of flood against stones. She headed 
the mare straight for the bank. The steed blun¬ 
dered into steep rocks, shied away in desperate 
terror, began to drift downstream. Again Folly 
drove her at the shore, again, again; each time, 
landing was impossible. 

Her eyes closed in a wave of faintness. Per¬ 
haps she had been borne by the current below the 
opposite side of the ford, and was being carried 
down to God only knew what dangers. She tried 
to turn the mare’s head upstream again, to fight 
slowly for the lost advantage. The mare, desper¬ 
ate now, paid no heed to the utter pull. One final 
attempt at the bank, then: a bleak cliff buffeted 
and shunted mare and rider again away. 

Low branches tangled in Folly’s hair, and almost 
pulled her from her unsteady seat. There was 
nothing to do but trust herself to the uneasy mercy 
of, the flood. 

And then the mare, of her own accord, aimed 
for the land again, and made it. Up a stiff, black 
decline she blundered wildly, frantic hoofs claw- 


84 


FOLLY 


ing into the mud as if they had been hands. Some¬ 
how she made the top of the rise, and there 
foundered suddenly to her knees. Somehow Folly 
was off—thank Heaven, the ground was firm; she 
soothed the frightened creature to her feet again. 
The girl adjusted the saddlebags, which were 
drenched from the long immersion, and mounted 
soberly. It was impossible to guess what she 
had escaped; perhaps, after all, the mare had 
crossed above the ford, and had ended at the right 
spot. She was tired, shaken and tired from the 
struggle. There was nothing to be done, in any 
case, but to go ahead on this road, if road it was. 
Up the long slope she sent the tired horse. 

It was the road, without question. The streak of 
moon, high over the vaulting trees, grew wider and 
wider, lighting upon their highest plumes, then 
creeping with silver feet down their sides. At last 
the trees gave way to undergrowth, hardly head 
high, with only a rare leafy forest monster to blot 
the gray night with its shadows. She was on level 
ground again; and, as the trees grew scarcer and 
the undergrowth lessened, she knew that it was the 
great heath, rather than another hill, that lay be¬ 
fore her. 

Several times the mare stopped in perplexity, 
and could hardly be urged forward. Folly sensed 
at last that it was difficulty in finding the road that 
troubled her steed; for the way was not marked at 
all, and alleys and bypaths led off into the heath 


BLOODY WYNNE 


85 


at either hand, at bewildering angles. The best 
she could do was to trust to Bonnie; and this she 
did. The sky brightened sensibly: no longer the 
moon alone, for its full disk was paling: she 
knew at last that she was facing the faint glow that 
precedes the arrival of day. 

Ahead of her lay a dark, vast hill. The mare, 
walking delicately now, came at length to its base. 
To her relief, Folly saw that there were at least 
no trees upon it; it was merely a great rise of the 
heath. She aimed the mare up its slope; from the 
top, when the light grew, she might be able to 
see the road ribboning away into the distance. 
Brighter and lovelier grew the sky; the air nipped 
cold with the chill of early dawn. 

Again the mare stopped abruptly, and fidgeted 
in uneasiness. Folly lifted her tired eyes to the 
sky, and at once drew in a quick, sharp breath. 
She was not alone! 

Before her, not more than a hundred yards 
away, a solitary horseman sat at rest. For all his 
aloof immobility, she knew in a flash that she had 
been observed. A troubling whimsey crossed her 
mind; could this be Chris Maynard, come thus 
early to circumvent her? At least, that would be 
safety. 

No, this was not Chris: hat, cloak, everything 
was different. Trusting that she was hidden in 
the shadows, she bent her eyes up toward the soli¬ 
tary figure, to read its nature. It was hard to 


86 


FOLLY 


make out anything: the sun was rising just behind 
the figure, and in the intolerable dazzle it was 
merely a black stark silhouette against the fiery 
sky. 

At least, it would hardly be a friendly figure, 
thus alone on the deserted heath. Speaking softly 
to the mare, she began to pick her way to the right, 
intending to skirt out of sight along the side of the 
hill, till she had left the dumb black menace far 
behind her. 

She turned her eyes upon the rider at the crest. 
To her chagrin, she saw that he was letting his 
horse keep decorous step with hers. He was pac¬ 
ing solemnly down the crest to the right, parallel to 
her way—indeed, as her mare was insensibly aim¬ 
ing up a trifle, the paths would meet. She aimed 
farther down; the horseman did the same, keeping 
the same distance between them. 

Best put a bold face upon the matter, and ride 
straight for the danger. The man’s horse was 
probably fresher than her mare; it would do no 
good to try to escape. No sooner decided, than 
she pulled the rein sharply to the left, and aimed 
straight at the silent figure. 

The man sat at ease on the crest, awaiting her 
arrival. “Halt! In the Queen’s name!” he called 
out, a sharp staccato bark that set Bonnie to danc¬ 
ing nervously, hardly ten feet from his stand. 

“I seek the Queen,” the girl replied simply, 
drawing her mare to a standstill. 


BLOODY WYNNE 87 

“A woman, by the red fiend! You do not seek 
my Queen, I venture.” 

“Is there more than one?” Her eyes, dazzled 
by the light behind him, tried to make something 
out of his face, a blur of dark crimson. 

“My Queen is Chance; I am her premier,” the 
man answered negligently, riding easily up toward 
her. She saw then that there were two pistols 
swinging from his saddle, and a sword jangling 
at his side. Suddenly she saw more, as he moved 
from the site of the sun toward the right: for a 
moment she almost cried out at the view of his 
face, stained red as if with blood. She held her 
nerves taut, and her face rigid. As breath came 
back to her, she saw, in a quick glance, that his 
eyes bored her features sharply—to see, of course, 
if his appearance had dismayed her. She could 
hardly hold her eyes away from his face: some 
horrid blotch of a birthmark, was it, or merely 
shammed blood, as innocent as the flush she 
rubbed on her own cheeks? 

He was against her now and bowing ironically. 
“Why do I find a lady, evidently noble, riding 
alone through my own Veiled Heath?” 

“I ride to London, to see my Queen and yours,” 
she answered straightly. “Will you point me the 
road, or lead me to it?” 

“These are my roads; you have found them.” 

“Halt! In the Queen’s name!” Her tone stabbed 
suddenly out, in a tense parody of his word. Her 


88 


FOLLY 


firm right hand held a pistol, sighted for his 
breast. “Stop there, or I shoot!” 

“Shoot, then,” his voice was unperturbed. “The 
red devil guards his own.” 

“Halt, I say!” 

He paid no heed; he was not three yards away 
from the head of her horse now. 

“I—I-” 

Still he came on. 

There was nothing else to it. Half closing her 
eyes, she pulled the trigger. Pity, with so fine a 
man; but she was bound for London, and this was 
in the journey too. 

A click: that was all. 

Smiling slightly, he relieved her nerveless hand 
of the weapon, and took, besides, its mate in the 
other holster. “Water has its uses,” he smiled 
agreeably. “I saw that your priming was wet. 
Why do you seek your Queen?” 

Her breast rose and fell furiously. “One 
moment ago, and I would have shot you, and wept 
afterwards for the deed. Now that I cannot, I 
choke to do it!” 

He looked her over at length: his schooled face 
said nothing. “I do not care to shoot you;” and 
then, bringing the accent back one small word, 
“I do not care to shoot you. Why do you seek 
your Queen?” 

She breathed out once, a sharp, pettish sound. 
“What concern is it of yours? Because she’s the 



BLOODY WYNNE 


89 


direct object of a verb; because the moon is made 
of sugared curds; because you’re too damned in¬ 
quisitive. Is that enough?” 

“Why—do—you—seek—your—Queen ?” 

She laughed, mistress of herself at last. “Why, 
you ask? And why not?” 

“Why not?” He laughed, a pleasant easy 
sound. “For a myriad weighty reasons. Why 
should anyone barter here for there, my lady? 
Why exchange this sweet kingdom of heath and 
hill, for four clipped walls and a lackey’s crouch? 
Why sell the breath of the gorse and the fronded 
bracken for all the filthy mews and coigns of Lon¬ 
don? What are lath and plaster, to the moon and 
the sun and the dark’s sky-vagrants? If you could 
live here with me,” he studied her with his careless 
gaze, “would you willingly lower yourself into the 
city’s cesspool?” 

“If the winter nipped-” 

“A roaring fire in a cleave in the rocks, or a 
hand-hewn hut in the forest—has the city better 
than these?” 

“The dangers of the wild-” 

He studied her, and nodded contentedly. 

“Are there any dangers, I wonder, from with¬ 
out?” 

She considered this, and was not satisfied. “But 
evil weather—storms—thunder and lightning and 
the drench of rain—the streams big with heaven 
and its pelting floods-” 





90 


FOLLY 


“To wet the priming of my enemies,” he parried 
with a rich smile. 

A pretty grimace granted defeat. “You love 
your very hardships.” 

“There are compensations, you see,” and he 
bowed in stately style. “Today, you came.” 

“Is banter with me worth that much?” 

“Talk? No.” He was still matter-of-fact. 

“I am an impoverished orphan; you will neither 
find gold on me, nor find one willing to dispocket 
a single sovereign, to keep my throat from being 
carved.” 

“Not your gold,” he said simply. 

She flushed gently this time. “Then you are 
not repaid at all, that’s clear. I go to London, Sir 
Heathen, to make my fortune at the Queen’s court.” 

His eyes opened this time. “A—a woman?” 

“God’s white mercy, does the whole world of 
men think a woman is nothing but a teasing pillow, 
a nursemaid, a scullery trollop, or a wanton? I 
go to ride my road, for that I am of the breed of 
man, no less and no more. I am woman, as you 
are man; but that is not the all of me. I am I— 
a person—a child of Adam and Eve, as surely as 
Caesar was a person, and that great godly grouch, 
Cromwell, and Bloody Wynne—no more and no 
less.” 

“You know my name, then.” He nodded in 
somber fashion. 

“I guessed it, slowly. But I had not guessed 


BLOODY WYNNE 


91 


that your face was so brave with blood, like a 
Mexican idol, kneaded of grain with the blood of 
living hearts, and served a red oblation by priests 
blood-besmeared.” A hint of bitter raillery crept 
to the surface of her tone. 

“That’s neither there nor here: I am I, and you 
— What you are not you will learn soon enough, 
my fine lady. Ay, part of that alphabet you’ll 
know well, before you see the last of me.” There 
was a sardonic note in this that he had not ventured 
before. 

“I do not like your tone,” as frostily direct as 
she could make it. 

His eyes burned her without flinching. “Soon 
you will like it less.” 

“You grow impertinent. Will you guide me 
back to my road, and set me on my way to London? 
There are a couple of pence for you, my good fel¬ 
low—-—” 

The slur did not alter a muscle on his face; his 
eyes took possession of her with advertised inso¬ 
lence. “No,” he said quietly. 

“Then, what, in the name of all rude boors, do 
you expect to do to me? A brave knight of the road 
in truth you are, skulking away from any danger, 
and wreaking your peevishness in insults on un¬ 
armed women here in the midst of your thrice- 
blasted empire!” 

“Your useless pistol,” he returned it ceremo¬ 
niously to her. “Now follow my horse.” If he 



92 


FOLLY 


had been speaking to a tuft of trampled grass, there 
could not have been more impersonal scorn in his 
voice. 

“I will know where first.” 

“Name of a dog,” he turned savagely on her, 
“you will follow me to a glade I hold sacred to 
the lists of lust, and there you will pay me the only 
toll a woman can. Is that enough?” 

“You are as frank,” and her face went whiter, 
“as you are boorish. Oh!” a quick little cry, as 
her pistol spun from her hand, and fell half a 
dozen feet away. She had used all of her quick¬ 
witted skill in the apparently casual toss of the 
weapon; her face showed nothing but hurt contri¬ 
tion. “Shall I dismount and pick it up, or are you 
knight of the road enough to-” 

He bowed at her pause, and swung lightly to the 
ground. Three swift strides brought him to the 
fallen glitter; he stooped gracefully to lift it. 

At the moment, with all of her energy, she re¬ 
leased the tight clench of her knees on Bonnie’s 
flanks, and spoke a sharp word to the mare. Two 
leaps brought her beside the outlaw’s horse. One 
grasp, and she had the reins of the strange horse 
in her hand. 

“Farewell,” she called over her shoulder, 
“while London!” 

She gave the word to Bonnie, and a cut of her 
whip to the other horse. Off the two galloped to¬ 
gether—her practiced hand engineered the feat 



BLOODY WYNNE 93 

prettily. She turned a gay face back for one look 
at the abandoned wanderer. 

At his look, her face altered in amazement. 
There was no dejection in his bearing; rather, there 
was half proud amusement. 

A flirt of her arm toward him, and she galloped 
on up the hill into the sunrise. 

A swift, sharp whistle from behind her broke 
the calm. She had hardly time to shrug, when, 
with a quick snort that slued her half way round 
in her saddle, the strange horse drove his front 
hoofs into the turf, and snapped his head back. 
The reins burned through her hands; for all her 
strength, she could not hold them. The steed 
whirled round, and cantered briskly back toward 
the running highwayman. 

It was a chase, then, she thought grimly. Bon¬ 
nie was as good as the other horse for riding, and 
fairly fresh after this wait. Clinging low over the 
mare’s neck, she whispered low encouragement 
into the sensitive ears pricked back toward her. 
The man would have to outride the very wind, to 
catch her! 

She heard the muffled thud of the following 
hoofs now, and called on Bonnie for all that she 
could do. It was uphill; there was no road, but 
this damned neck-high brake and copsewood. The 
thudding from behind grew constantly louder. 

She turned to the right, for a more level path, 
tending a bit downhill. Her mare crashed on 


94 


FOLLY 


through the wildness; but the horseman below 
gained feet by turning at the same instant, and 
making toward crossing her way. 

Well, if it had to be, it had to be. 

“Stop, or I shoot your horse,” his brusque com¬ 
mand struck her. 

She was of a mind to risk it. But he was over¬ 
taking her anyway, and it was Chris’s—that is, 
Lieutenant Maynard’s horse. She curbed the pant¬ 
ing mare, and stood frigid, staring away into the 
bright sunrise. 

“Ride beside me,” he ordered curtly, walking 
his horse around hers and turning its head again 
toward the sunrisen crest. 

This time she did as she was told. She spoke 
carefully, altering her scorn to a slow persuasion. 
“You ride well, Sir Highwayman. My trick on 
you was no worse than your joke to me,” and she 
smiled intimately. 

He stared suave inquiry. 

“About your love glade, you know,” she held 
level her pounding voice. “A quaint conceit! But 
you know, as well as I, that love is not won that 
way; and that love unwon is love unworn.” 

Carefully he pondered this. “There is much I 
have not known, then. There is somewhat I have. 
I am not called Bloody Wynne for nothing.” 

Again she fought to hold her voice even. “It 
pleases you to entertain me with these jokes, Sir 
Highwayman. I am not fooled; I know you earned 


BLOODY WYNNE 


95 


your dread name through deeds of bloody cour¬ 
age against men, and against odds. You do not 
prey on weak women!” 

“Your tune glides the gamut,” he agreed pleas¬ 
antly. “A space agone, and you were anything but 
weak woman. As for me,” he shook his head 
smilingly, “how well you have learned all to be 
known of me!” 

“I go to London, to the Queen,” she repeated 
quietly, to carry conviction by the very repetition. 
“Before long, I shall not be unknown or unheard 
to her ears. You will want a pardon, to wipe out 
whatever mischance outlawed you; so that you 
can roam your own hills, without knowing that 
every man’s hand is armed against you. If you 
aid me in reaching my road to London, I shall prize 
the act at no low memory.” She had guided her 
mare against his steed, and reached over with all 
the face of impulsiveness to grasp his arm. “I 
know that you will help me—for I need it!” 

His hand tightened on the pistol on the farther 
side, she noted; then loosened its hold. “You do,” 
he granted idly, and was silent. 

“And you will aid me-?” 

“This road comes in time to London,” he con¬ 
fessed. There was a charm in playing cat to such 
a charming mouse—in giving her a run of satis¬ 
fied belief that she had won something of her point, 
before the bloody paw struck her to earth. 

She could hardly choke back the gasp of delight. 



96 


FOLLY 


“I knew I had not judged you falsely, Sir Knight! 
You are leading me back, are you not?” 

His face was as gentle as hers. “Do you think 
I could harm you?” he wondered aloud. 

She was all jubilation within; and set out at 
once to be as entertaining as possible. Trust her 
to win her way, over any odds. And he, within, 
laughed to himself at the gullibility of woman. 
The last sin of Gilles de Rais, he reflected, had 
been to make his victims trust him fully, before 
blasting them. 

His horse needed no guiding to the particular 
glade Wynne had in mind; the rider could turn all 
his attention to the sweet prattle at his ear, and 
the task, by no means easy, of retaining her confi¬ 
dence in him, without too obvious a lie. Soon his 
mind began to juggle his courteous repartee easily, 
and the deeper part of it ranged on to richer fare 
—to visions of what would occur, when the glade 
had been reached. All unaware of what heaved 
under the surface against her, Folly gossiped gaily 
ahead, of her childhood, of the queer Quaker 
home to which she had been transplanted, and of 
what she meant to do and be in London. 

“It is hard for me to make a man see my aim,” 
she confessed with smiling candor. “Men are 
such—such selfish swine. Not you, of course—” 

“Men have names for women, too,” he shook his 
head at man’s depravity. 


BLOODY WYNNE 


97 


“You are one man out of the raff,” she flattered 
broadly. “You saw at once what I was mounting 
toward. Isaac Scattergood, a benison on his pious 
obtuseness, was merely horrified—he saw the 
fiend speaking in me! This Lieutenant Maynard 
I told you of—he was no better, can you believe 
it?” 

“It is extraordinary,” he assented casually. 
Then his eyes widened with a start, as they caught 
the treey gate to the glade. The bright eyes nar¬ 
rowed reflectively. Once within, and this honey 
cargo would learn much! 

“Even Uncle Westport, broad-minded as he is, 
took the same atti-” 

He started with visible suddenness, and turned 
in quick suspicion toward her. “Uncle who?" 

“My uncle, the Earl of Westport. It was to his 
house I went, in Bristol, that last night; he is to 
present me at court. I told you before—maybe you 
were not noting-” 

His horse stopped abruptly, at an unseen twitch 
of the reins. The outlaw stared frigidly at her 
face. “You are Stephen Westport’s niece?” 

“And his ward, too. Of course, he’s rake and 
debauchee, in the eyes of the godly; but what an 
improvement he is on that old Quaker!” 

A gentle gesture woke the horse again. “It’s a 
queer snarled world,” he spoke aloud, as if phras¬ 
ing a regret all forgetful of the girl. “Speak to 




98 


FOLLY 


your horse.” After a pause, “I wanted you to see 
this place, Mistress-” 

“Folly—Folly Leigh.” 

“Drunkards may not always snore in the arms 
of Providence, but this particular Folly surely 
does,” he continued his strange aloof musing aloud. 

“You puzzle me a trifle.” 

“It’s no great matter. I wanted you to see this 
glade, Mistress Folly. Here,” and his tone pared 
down to naked cold truth, “I have killed five men, 
and flattered more women than I dare count, by the 
gift of my attentions. Not always forced, either, 
may I assure you? You are entitled to add this to 
your memories, before we ride on to the London 
Road.” 

“Yes,” she gasped, utterly puzzled by the sinis¬ 
ter relief in the air. And again, “Yes. I see.” 

“Come,” he said between his teeth. “It is not 
too nice a place, to me. Nor is it child’s sport to 
ride away from it with you—as you still are.” 



CHAPTER VI 
A Little More Blood 

After they rode away from the soft face of the 
glade, Wynne spoke in apparent idleness out of 
his reverie. “Mistress Folly,” and then he nodded, 
and continued, “did you know, when you spoke 
of Westport, that he and I are far from being 
strangers to one another?” 

“Why—why, no. You see, I never heard him 
speak of you. I spent only one night, remember, 
in his manor in Bristol-” 

“Stephen Westport,” he spoke gently, “did me 
a good turn once. There had been first a private 
quarrel between two gentlemen, in which I hap¬ 
pened to serve his wishes, all unknowing. Accord¬ 
ingly, he lifted me out of the most difficult scrape 
of my life. I do not forget. He was much, re¬ 
member, under William, as well as everything 
under Anne. I have done him a dozen good turns 
since-” 

“You really know him, then?” 

A gay chuckle came from the red face. “I 
know no man living better, devil take me! Why 
he’s with me on a hundred madcap turns! When¬ 
ever he gets underseas on his damned diplomacy, 
and sickens to death of the puling zanies around 
the court, he slips slyly out, sends me word, and 
99 




100 


FOLLY 


we roar our way together from Ramsgate to Black¬ 
pool! I would not darken Stephen in your 
eyes-” 

“I have no nursemaid,” she nodded. “I know 
that my good uncle has mistresses from one end 
of England to the other—godly Isaac Scattergood 
explained that to me-” 

“Ah, but what spirit, what mad brilliancy of 
imagination and execution! There were hot blades 
in the days of second Charles-” 

“ The old goat,’—wasn’t that Charlie’s love- 
name?” 

“Mistress, I bow to you! So they did; and 
Rochester, Buckingham, and a whole stews of 
others rioted like emperors over the land. 0, but 
we’ve gone them better, Stephen and I, time again 
and time again! What tales I could tell! My fair 
lady, for your ear alone—we didn’t stop at royalty 
itself! One dark night, we quarried off the 
Queen’s self—and turned her loose half a night 
later, and she never had the faintest dream that 
her Lord Great Chamberlain-” 

“You do earn my curtsey!” 

He chuckled again. “A good thing the court of 
heaven is out of reach, or we’d plant a bar sinister 
there. So, when you spoke his name, that altered 
all.” 

Her sudden intake of breath woke him to an 
understanding of what she had not yet realized. 






A LITTLE MORE BLOOD 101 

Her troubled face told more; “Altered?” she asked, 
not quite believing. 

She was entitled to the truth, he adjudged. “You 
thought you were to scape scatheless, did you? On 
my name, if Westport had been in my place, and 
you my kinswoman, I couldn’t answer for what 
might have happened!” 

“But you mean—that if I hadn’t mentioned 
him-” 

“My dear Mistress Folly, this I may say: three 
young girls slit their throats in that very glade you 
have left, after I had done with ’em. Remem¬ 
ber,” he spoke quietly, “they call me Bloody 
Wynne.” 

The girl shivered, and soon led the talk into a 
sunnier channel. It was not flattering to think of 
herself, for all her self-esteem, riding unknowing 
under the red shadow of this chance stranger’s 
power, and saved only by an accidental sesame. 
And what was not pleasant and flattering her 
urbane memory laid in the crypt marked forget¬ 
fulness. 

Travelling over heath and hill with Wynne, she 
soon observed, was a far different matter from 
following the trodden way to London. He knew 
this country, as a man knows the paths in his gar¬ 
den: their horses, too, could go where no coach 
could pass without wings. Without losing time, 
he led her through forest runs and easy fords and 
great uncharted plains, until the troubled wild was 



102 


FOLLY 


as smoothed as a walk from the gateway of the 
cathedral to the Mayor’s Chapel. 

Wynne, finding the girl thirsty for his knowl¬ 
edge of the woodland, named the hills as he 
passed them, and the less usual breed of trees and 
shrubs. He turned aside to show her a great troop 
of bustard feeding, almost a hundred of the huge 
creatures. A sudden shout, and he had sent the 
great wings beating southward toward the Channel. 
As they skirted one marsh, a queer cloud of cranes 
rose above them. Down one long oak glade—a 
rare sight, he explained, for the last score of years 
—a great wild bull with his white mane glared at 
them, then lumbered slowly off. 

So absorbed was she in these sights, that it was 
with a shock of surprise that she raised her eyes to 
see a horseman skulking behind a gnarled trio of 
oaks, a hundred yards ahead. She steadied her 
voice: “Did you see him?” 

His smile was ease itself. “From the hill we 
have left. There is one on each side of us, too. 
No flurry; I shall deal with them.” 

Her heart dancing at the certainty of power and 
protection, she rode ahead. Before they had 
reached the oaks, it came, from three sides at 
once: “Stand, and deliver!” 

Wynne rode quietly ahead of the girl, his hat 
down over his eyes. Then he raised his face. 
“Really?” he inquired politely. 

The highwayman barring their way dropped a 


A LITTLE MORE BLOOD 103 

nerveless hand, his pistol dangling. “It’s—it’s 
the chief. All pardon-” 

“It’s no offense,” smiled the girl’s companion. 
“Better luck with the next stranger. And good 
day, men.” With this courteous interchange, they 
rode on. 

“You are utterly safe here?” she marvelled 
aloud. 

“Why not? They are safe from me, remem¬ 
ber.” 

But the woodland sights could not stretch for¬ 
ever. Long after noon they secured lunch at a 
huddling farm where Wynne was well known; and 
at night they rode up to an inn, where he seemed 
even more at home. As they were being served 
the best that the host could scrape together, Folly 
wondered aloud at his daring, with the Sheriff’s 
men of every shire out after him. 

“Little you know, my dear, of the customs in 
merrie England! Sheriff’s men? I have enough 
of them fee’d to make an army—to give me word 
of wealthy merchants setting out, and Queen’s men 
transporting gold. Mine host of this tavern is one 
of many who are cater-cousins of mine. Ugh, 
what worms they are! They’ll mark the room 
where sleeps a throat to be cut, whose pockets are 
well lined with golden sovereigns. Not that I cut 
the throats; they have a lower gentry for that. But, 
scaping that, as soon as the party sets out on the 
morrow, I appear from the brush like a dog from 



104 FOLLY 

his kennel, and ‘Stand and deliver, in the Queen’s 
name!’ ” 

Unconsciously he had raised his voice; the 
travellers in the room blenched, at the levelled 
command, and no less at the forbidding red face. 
Seeing that it was but sport, they bent again to their 
food, still shivering. 

“It is not a bad life,” agreed Folly earnestly. 
“You almost tempt me to join with you. You must 
fare well—” her eyes travelled over him in sin¬ 
cere flattery. 

“One has to keep up appearances,” continued 
Wynne thoughtfully. “Mark my attire, now; no 
man in the room is as well dressed as I. We are 
of necessity the gentlemen in the empire of thieves: 
the earls and dukes, shall I say? The coffee¬ 
houses know us, and the elegant salons of chance. 
We must know how to rub shoulders with men of 
quality, to lay a bet with the apt swagger, to cross 
swords with the best in the kingdom with the grace 
of a fencing-master. The nobility, in this ribald 
age, court us to take them along on our jaunts; 
Westport, who rides with me, need not court, God 
knows. Two score years ago, it was Duval-” 

She quoted prettily: 

“Here lies Duval. Reader, if male thou art, 
Look to thy purse; if female, to thy heart.” 

“Precisely. What with stepping the coranto 
with captured ladies of fashion on the heath, and 
setting the hearts of all the court beauties to burn- 



A LITTLE MORE BLOOD 


105 


ing, he gave us a high model to follow. When 
you decide to take up highwaying,” he bowed 
with a stiff, friendly smile, “you will find your 
court manners almost smooth enough to fit you for 
our company.” 

“I shall remember, my friend. As for this 
night-” 

“This inn; and, at dawn, the road again.” 

After the last night’s chill ride, Folly tasted to 
the fullest the ease of the inn bed. She knew that 
she was safe, with her outlaw protector in the next 
room; and, if all the truth must be told, sighed a 
little that it was so. She did not wake until his 
cautious rap, still in the grayness, summoned her 
to breakfast. The mare, Bonnie, seemed no whit 
the worse for her steady task of the two days be¬ 
fore; and they cantered off together in the cloudy 
dawn. 

Before they had been two hours on the road, 
Wynne turned to the girl with a thoughtful look. 
“There is an interruption coming,” he said soberly. 
“I do not know what it is—it will not work us 
great ill. I thought to mention it, however.” 

“You can read what is not yet?” She was fas¬ 
cinated at the constant fresh revelation of the 
man’s many-sidedness. 

“There is little art needed to read what is past,” 
he threw off lightly. “I hold that what is to come 
waits somewhere, ready shaped: like the next inn, 
waiting for us to ride up to its hospitality, with 



106 


FOLLY 


meal set and servants at attention. So with what 
is still to come. It has been always so with me; I 
am a woman in that,” he confessed with almost a 
shyness. 

“I am a man, in being shelled against foreknowl¬ 
edge,” she countered. “We make an admirable 
team. Let us hope that your interruption-” 

He reined in his horse, and cocked an ear back 
toward the road on which they had come. “No— 
I do not hear hoofs yet. Soon I shall-” 

“My pistol is primed now,” she offered softly. 
“We two can face off whatever comes-” 

“It is one horseman,” he spoke with certainty. 
“I hear him now. Hark!” 

She listened, and at length made out the dull 
sound too. 

He studied the situation carefully. They were 
in a level opening in the forest, a fit place for what 
strange encounter might come. He nodded in sat¬ 
isfaction. “This will do well.” 

Side by side they awaited the rider, whose com¬ 
ing had come so strangely first to Wynne. The 
sound grew sharper, still out of sight around the 
turn in the road. 

Suddenly, at the end of the cleft in the wood¬ 
lands, a horse’s head appeared, galloping heavily. 
His rider, head lowered, was hardly a score of 
feet away when he raised his eyes, to discover the 
two standing so silently before him. 

“Folly!” 





A LITTLE MORE BLOOD 


107 


“Chris—Chris Maynard!” 

The Lieutenant stiffened in his saddle. “I have 
words for you,” he admonished sternly. His eyes 
turned to the outlaw beside her. “I do not know 
whom I have the honor of addressing-” 

“My name is Wynne,” without boast or humility. 

“I should have suspected it. Does this maiden 
accompany you with her will, or without it?” 

“Ask the maid.” 

“Of my own will, of course, Chris. Don’t be 
too dense. Will you join us?” 

“Sir,” ignoring the girl, and speaking only to 
the highwayman, “this girl was placed under my 
keeping by her nearest kinsman. May I thank 
you for shielding her thoughtless journeying?” 

“I am your humblest servant,” the outlaw 
bowed, with hardly a hint of mockery. 

Maynard’s face grew hard. “I wish you a very 
good day, sir.” 

Wynne laughed easily. “You are considerate: 
may the weather please you as well. In my turn, 
I shall speak more plainly. If you choose, 
Mistress Folly and her devoted escort will be de¬ 
lighted to have you ride with them to the gates of 
London.” 

“This is an impertinence. You are, I assume, a 
highwayman—” Scorn blistered the tone. 

“An unofficial thief and killer, yes; and you, 
in Her Majesty’s Service, are merely one who 
shares a sovereign’s official monopoly of killings. 



108 


FOLLY 


You are not a statesman, I assume, so have not yet 
been admitted to the royal prerogative of thieving 
as well.” Wynne’s face still held an easy friend¬ 
liness. 

“This is damned impertinent!” 

“Truth is always an impertinence, I believe, to 
diplomats and soldiers. Your tone, sire, was 
pertinent enough, but hardly flattering.” 

Chris stared at him speechlessly. 

The outlaw grinned in easy good nature. “Make 
your choice: with us, or by yourself.” 

“The girl goes with me!” 

“If she chooses.” Wynne bowed courteously 
toward her. 

“But, Chris,” Folly kept her face inoffensively 
straight, “this gentleman has brought me thus far 
—there have been perils too, and you see— I 
am sure that the rest of the way-” 

“Sir,” his tones clicked more strongly, as he 
regained control of himself, “you are a scoundrel, 
that I can easily see. Your bloody record has 
already reached me-” 

Wynne still smiled. “And yours is still to be 
made, Sir Soldier? Well, ride ahead alone, or 
behind alone, or with us: I care not a fiddle¬ 
string. The maid has spoken, and with me she 
goes.” 

“Not if my sword can let it!” 

Wynne swung lightly to the ground, passing his 
rein to the girl. “I shall not whistle this time, my 




A LITTLE MORE BLOOD 


109 


friend,” he smiled at her. Then to the man, “And 
this sword you prate of-?” 

Maynard, scowling furiously, as he realized that 
so far he had not shone in the meeting, slid to the 
ground, and bared his blade. “I warn you, I shall 
run you through, sir, if I have the chance-” 

“Which, the devil willing, you will not have. 
On guard, then!” 

A gray glitter of steel, and the blades clashed. 
Maynard fenced well, that much his uncle had told 
her: but his best was little against the uncanny 
skill of the outlaw. Wynne’s style, Folly noted— 
and she had first-hand knowledge—was by far 
the best: instead of the bent arm guard of May¬ 
nard, with the blade inclining upward, Wynne 
fought with his arm almost fully extended, and 
his smallsword in line with his forearm. 

“Point!” called out the highwayman briskly, as 
he scored a deft touch. 

“My sleeve,” grunted the other. 

Again, “Point!” 

It was the cloth again; and Maynard, slowly 
furious, risked all on a direct lunge at the body. 
Wynne was utter ease in parrying it, and with a 
deft flick of his wrist sent the other’s blade flying 
grayly through the air. Dropping his point, he 
stood at rest. “Is it enough? I could have run 
you through, you noticed.” 

“Be agreeable, Chris,” urged Folly gently, “and 
ride on with us. This is no fledgling, but one of 




110 


FOLLY 


the best blades in Europe that you face. I doubt if 
I—” she stopped, and smiled. “He wishes you no 

harm, I am sure-” 

“But my uncle told me-” 

“He might well have named me in your stead,” 
said Wynne civilly, “for Stephen Westport and I 
are friends. Will you ride with us, Sir?” 

“I do not love solitary going,” and Chris bowed 
gracefully. “Lead on. The coach and Mistress 
Blick will follow in due time,” he explained to the 
girl. 

“I hope you do not really mind, Chris-” 

“At least,” he said resignedly, “we will reach 
London before His Lordship.” 





CHAPTER VII 
The Salamander Woman 

At sunup, on the first day of August, the three 
travellers set out upon the last hour’s ride to the 
outskirts of London. Wynne turned to the girl, 
with his unfailing courtesy: “How did you lie, my 
lady?” 

“Not well: the shutters creaked and whined, as 
if the world were dying.” 

“It was a high, evil wind. I pray God all is 
well with Stephen Westport on his journey. You 
know,” he continued slowly, “a high wind blows 
from the death of a high soul, we say in my 
counties.” 

Folly smiled comfortably. “That wind was too 
gentle to point my esteemed uncle, never fear. 
When he passes, all the winds will be unloosed, and 
the yeasty waves driven high above Paul’s.” 

He shook his head somberly. “It was an evil 
wind; I pray you always ride in a better.” 

Within an hour, the outlaw drew rein, and bade 
the others farewell. This was London; they could 
not go amiss now. And, indeed, within two hours 
the two of them drew up at the door of Westport 
Court. Folly rejoiced at one thing: not one word 
of reproach had come from the Lieutenant for 
ill 


112 


FOLLY 


what was, after all, a rather daredevil escapade. 
Perhaps he was saving it for Westport’s ears; well, 
she saw no reason to shrink from a conflict with 
any one. Her own weapons would serve her with 
king or pip. 

Chris left her in the care of the steward’s wife, 
while he walked out to see if any word had come 
from the host and his wife. Half an hour before 
noon he was back again; and Folly, who had spent 
much musing upon her toilet, was piqued to notice 
that he had no eyes for her fineries. His brow was 
heavily furrowed: could it be unpleasant news 
of his relatives? She could not wait in suspense. 

“Any word, Chris?” 

“About my uncle, no.” He shook his head 
grimly. “But I have heavy news. The Queen is 
dead.” 

Her blue eyes opened limpidly. “That high 
wind had a word for us, then!” An impish and 
adorable impertinence tilted her face. “So Anne 
is gone? Mrs. Morley dead at last? And the 
German comes in?” 

He came closer to her, drawn against his inten¬ 
tion. “So it must be. George, son of the Electress 
Sophie, whose soul may Heaven rest, too, is to be 
our new sovereign.” 

Folly sat staring at him intently. “And I came 
to London to see the Queen, on the very day that 
she died! Heavens—should all my quests end like 
this! But no,” she flashed dazzlingly aside, “I 


THE SALAMANDER WOMAN 113 


came to let royalty see me—and there are always 
Kings and Queens, it seems. This new King, 
Chris—what is he like? Have you ever seen him?” 
She crossed over to his side, hanging on his arm, 
looking meltingly into his face. “Will he like 
me, Admiral Chris? Do you think he will like 
me?” 

“The devil’s self would like you,” the troubled 
young man grumbled, “if you looked at him like 
that. I misdoubt that he—the German, not the 
devil—can fail to like you: he has had his wife in 

jail for twenty years-” 

“Oho!” 

“And his mistresses, men say, are the plainest 
molls on the continent. If you play your highty- 
tighty tricks on him-” 

“We shall see, bonny boy! Poor domestic 
Anne! How could a woman, who had buried five 
children in her youth, and looked for twice as 
many more who came ill-” 

“Folly! How can you jest on such themes?” 

“Pardon, grave and reverend seigneur. How 
could a woman of small wit and an insatiable tooth 
for food-” 

“Have you no reverence at all?” 

“Not a whit! What are kings and queens but 
you and me fallen under the unlucky glare of 
immense wealth and utter public scrutiny? I 
might be no wiser than Anne; but, God my witness, 
I would have made a lovelier queen-” 







114 


FOLLY 


He stared savagely out of the window. “You 
would be queen of the world, if I had my way.” 

“Spoken like my own courtier! And you would 
make an admirable king, Chris—” She stopped 
teasingly. 

“—For a king, to be happy, must not be too 
brilliant—” she began, her face sober enough. 

“You incorrigible jester! You will meet your 
mate in Uncle Westport-” 

“While he arrives, you and I will see what we 
can of London, charming Chris? 0, I’ll behave 
very prettily: I’ll say nothing about the Queen’s 
tooth, much less her-” 

“Folly, Folly!” He had intended no such 
thing: in truth, there were charges that he should 
be executing. But the girl, in this mood, was 
irresistible. For the next two days, she made him 
her constant squire about the capital, which was 
now solemn enough in its mourning gloom at the 
death of the sovereign. 

On the third night, Westport and his wife 
arrived. Folly found herself shunted aside; the 
nobleman was closeted with Maynard for more 
than an hour. Folly feared that she was the sub¬ 
ject of at least part of the conversation, and tingled 
a bit when they came out. But there was no refer¬ 
ence, at its end, to the heterodox manner of her 
trip up to London. Perhaps Chris had shielded 
her—adorable escort! What it was that troubled 




THE SALAMANDER WOMAN 115 


him was soon made clear: he was busily engaged 
in weaving his preliminary status under the new 
sovereign. He could hardly expect to remain as 
high as he had stood with the daughter of James; 
but, since the German policies were still to be 
shaped, anything was possible out of the fog. 

For the next few days, the girl found herself 
very much neglected, while affairs of state went 
on, in preparation for the triumphal entry of the 
Hanoverian into his new land. She found the 
relief a grateful one: the countess, at least, did all 
she could to make the time pass pleasantly, and 
ciceroned the girl’s lingering tour of inspection of 
historic Westport Court. And then, one morning, 
the atmosphere was singularly cleared: Westport 
and the Whigs, it appeared, had come to terms. 
It looked as if he would have at least an initial 
advantage with the new ruler. 

That afternoon, he brusquely ordered the coun¬ 
tess to pay a call of state quite overdue, and sug¬ 
gested with imperative casualness that she need not 
take Folly. The girl intercepted the look that 
went with this—a command, if there ever was one. 
Evidently she was to hear from His Lordship. 

For an hour, after his wife had departed, he did 
not come to the girl. She concluded shrewdly that 
he wanted the atmosphere of the hour to grow 
upon her. And then, he sent word to her that he 
would see her in the Hall of Portraits. 

Quietly she came down; for all her will, she 


116 


FOLLY 


felt flushed and chilled in turn. She had come to 
recognize the look that men held in their eyes when 
they saw her: a look that unbared desire. It was 
no less in the godly old ascetic, Scattergood, who 
turned it into a tongue-lash of bitterness, than in 
the highwayman on the heath, and Chris at the 
White Bull. This same look had been on West¬ 
port’s face, that night on the streets of Bristol; it 
had lurked not far away from his face ever since. 
Yet she could not ignore him, nor affront him: she 
must use him, with all her wit, to hasten the de¬ 
layed efforts which must be made toward Will’s 
return. It had come at last to the testing point. 
How could she hold him, at her own terms? 

She hesitated outside the great hangings of the 
ancestral gallery: then she knew somehow that the 
moment would open the way. With the slow smile 
on her face that Cleopatra wore at Tarsus, when 
she welcomed Antony at her feet, Folly Leigh 
walked proudly before the nobleman. 

He rose, eyes intent on her face, seeking to read 
what was written there. He read utter beauty, 
beauty that almost took his breath away, and in¬ 
stead held it within: beauty as cold and sure as 
a cave of ice lit by a simple torch. From his eyes 
came the look that brought the maids at court flock¬ 
ing around him. And so they met, her look and his: 
and the space between them hardened to a wall. 

“Have you no kiss for your kinsman?” he dallied 
idly, planning with all his wit. 


THE SALAMANDER WOMAN 117 


“Indeed, yes, dear uncle.” 

But he did not take the offered cheek. Quietly 
his two hands came to rest on her shoulders, until 
he had her facing him. “The lips,” he ordered 
just as quietly. 

She turned the full moon of her face upon him, 
and lifted her lips to his. His own came to them 
slowly, and, when they found the girl’s mouth a 
locked bud, kissed her as simply as she willed. 

“You have not learned how to kiss?” 

“Are there lessons, then?” 

“Unless you discriminate against eager worth, 
in favor of humbler desire.” 

Her blue eyes widened, until he felt he could 
see all within them: an eternity of cold frank 
blue. “You are the first man who has kissed 
me.” 

“And you yourself have kissed-” 

“No man living or dead, Stephen.” It was a 
shrewd touch, using his first name; if the tone was 
set by it, they were equals, and she had gained. 

“May I show you how to kiss?” He choked a 
bit, so bright was the prospect before him. 

“If it amuses you, surely.” 

She listened with a blown smile to his explana¬ 
tion, and gave her lips as he directed. Yet he 
found no answering warmth; her lips, for all their 
letter following of his words, remained a bound 
bud. 

“You are a queen among women,” he confessed 



118 


FOLLY 


the easy platitude, a bit vexed with himself at find¬ 
ing the quarry so worthy. 

“Should any woman be less? But of course; 
just as there are kings among men.” She bowed 
slightly. “Yet any woman who wills herself a 
queen-” 

“Could you will your lips, girl, with all the 
sweetness of Hybla locked within them? Could 
you will cheeks like moss-rose petals, eyes like 
stars come to nest in flesh? Could you will a body 
as great as Phidias knew, when he dreamed his 
Venus out of chill stone?” 

“If I were a dowd and a frowse and as plain as 
that fat dumpling who died in Windsor last week, 
I would be a queen still,” she smiled gently. 

“By God, but you would! You—you care for 
me, Folly?” 

“Immensely. More than that,” she carried the 
warfare over to him, “I need you. I needed you, 
before we left Bristol, to aid me be what I will be: 
more now, I need you for Will’s sake.” 

“You can have me,” his voice throbbed in spite 
of himself, “utterly your own, if you will.” 

“Would any refuse?” she fenced. 

“Will you let me love you?” 

“Will I be your mistress, you mean? That’s 
harder to say. I would have been your first miss, 
gladly,” she looked at him with level eyes. “I 
might have held you, you see. And no one can 
pick herself as your Shulamite; you will love till 



THE SALAMANDER WOMAN 119 


you die, I think. And why be one lost in a pro¬ 
cession?” 

“You must let me love you!” Fooling himself 
into holding the wish to be utterly more, he came 
close to her, and caught her shoulders gently, press¬ 
ing her body against his. She stood as straight as 
a youth, or as a tree leaned against by a passing 
drunkard; he felt the swooning ache of holding 
her bosom against his own, an ache that dulled, as 
he found no answering spark. 

At length he released her as gently. “You felt 
no answering thrill?” 

“Not a tremor, Stephen. Men love from the 
lips; women, from the heart of hearts. You have 
read your Addison?” 

“—A harsh Puritan, for all his grace.” 

“Oh, you think of what he said of men of 
fashion, a sort of vermin who populate London 
with bastards. Believe my word, Stephen, I hold 
against him in that, especially as it touches you; 
and other men I judge by you. But I had some¬ 
thing else in mind—his picture of me.” 

“Of you, my dear?” 

She pursed her lips adorably. “He spoke of 
women who are salamanders—heroines in chastity, 
who tread upon fire, and walk on the flames with¬ 
out being scorched. Let me grant that I do not 
yet take strangers to my confidence at first sight, 
or receive men at my bedside. Yet I am as dar¬ 
ing with my lips, and cautious with my body, as 


120 


FOLLY 


the sisterhood he has in mind. When I give my¬ 
self, it will be in my own time, at my own 
terms-” 

“I ask but to know them, and to fulfil them.” 

“But what if I do not see them clearly yet? I 
shall see your new keeper-” 

A moment’s start on his part; then he half 
smiled. 

“—But I do not think George of Hanover is the 
man you are, Stephen; and I know that I am ice 
still. Kiss me when you must, if it amuses you—” 

His hand caught hotly at her arm. She stared 
at him, until he lowered it, and his eyes too. 

“I don’t know, my dear; you see, I am sure. 
Let me meet the world of men first; for I tell you 
that I will cull what I want out of life, for all 
your scoffing.” 

“I have other women,” he almost groaned aloud, 
“but I’ll put ’em all by-” 

“And find yourself easeless and abandoned, 
dear my lord? No; love where you will; and, for 
this while, be my friend—for God knows I need 
one!” 

He turned from her, and stared fixedly at a great 
dark blankness in oils against the wall. When he 
fronted her again, there was more of the wall in 
his face. “I didn’t think there was a woman 
walked could talk to me as you have done, Folly; 
somehow, by God, you talk me dumb. No,” he 
spoke still more firmly, “I won’t wait your time, 




THE SALAMANDER WOMAN 121 


my dear; you’ll melt in my time soon enough. 
Keep your lips till you have more for me; and 
that’ll be soon enough, I wager. You’re worth a 
fortnight, shall I say?” He smiled agreeably. 
“For this while, then, say your will to me.” 

“Ah, but you know it, Stephen: in good season 
to meet his new majesty, and see to it that the seas 
are scoured for that scoundrel Teach, and to re¬ 
cover Will.” 

“That’s little enough; as soon as I will, the 
chance that you wish for shall be yours.” 

Impulsively she held to his arm. “I can’t 
thank you enough-” 

“But what,” lazy, half-closed eyes measured 
her, “if I do not will, my dear, till you will what 
I would have? What if I delay-” 

“You wouldn’t be such a swine!” 

“Ah, my dear, when a woman’s to be gained— 
But think it over well. And now I must leave you; 
I must be at Will’s for a word with Townshend. 
While then-” 

She hid her bewilderment with a baffling curtsey. 
“My kinsman’s love to your lordship.” He left 
her, feeling subtly rewarded and deeply held. 

For the next few days, Westport was busied 
with preparations for the arrival of the Han¬ 
overian, which furnished Folly a pleasant respite. 
At last came the eve of the great day. In honor 
of the forthcoming celebration, the dinner at West- 
port Court was more elaborate than usual. There 





122 


FOLLY 


was a deal of people that Folly knew—Chris May¬ 
nard, Viscount Innis of Inniscourt, Sir Howard 
Batten, and more; she was presented to many of 
the leading notables of the Whig party—Viscount 
Townshend, smart Colonel Pett, Earl Stanhope, 
and others who were less than names to her. 

The dinner was a bewildering succession of 
heavy dishes; after the first few, she could hardly 
taste the others. There was a great platter of fried 
marrow; a fricassee of rabbits and pigeons, a side 
of mutton, roasted whole; three loins of veal; an 
imposing stew of carps and salmon jowls; an 
immense dish containing a dozen pullets and four 
dozen larks baked together; a platter holding a 
dozen lobsters; a pie made of neats’ tongues gar¬ 
nished with tansy and anchovies; another of lam¬ 
preys; there were prawns, cheese, tarts, pastries, 
wines, cakes, and endless lesser dishes. Folly 
quoted aside to Chris, to his dismay, the sweet 
rhyme harking back to King William’s time: 

“King William thinks all, 

Queen Mary talks all, 

Prince George drinks all, 

And Princess Anne eats all.” 

All of them dead now, she reflected, though the 
rhyme was less than a score of years old: and 
Anne, who would have fallen to the dinner until 
she sweated prawns and lampreys, gone last of all. 
Kings and queens had stomachs, and diseases, and 


THE SALAMANDER WOMAN 123 


were fare for the earth, as surely as commoners: 
and Folly felt herself a queen. Well, it behooved 
her to learn from queens dead and crumbled, that 
she might lengthen and brighten her day and night 
at the world’s tavern. 

Westport, the next morning, showed the effects 
of the food no less than the drinking; and break¬ 
fasted grumpily on radishes. 

“Today the damned Dutchman comes,” he 
groaned aloud, “and I with a head like a swollen 
cask! You’ll have to ride with me, Helen,” he ad¬ 
dressed the countess. “As for Folly here, Chris can 
squire her—unless she’s wise enough rather to 
spend the day decently at home. If I could avoid 
the raffish bedlam! The rabble will be all loose, 
howling their throats dry—though most of ’em 
would howl for Konigsmark as soon as for his 
stag.” 

Folly looked up with heightened color. “I am 
with child to see any strange thing, Uncle Westport! 
Pray let Chris take me-” 

“God’s mercy it should be twins, with this 
dumb alien glowering into London, at the head of 
his dour kinsmen and pitted women. But have it 
your way; and God give us speedy rest of corona¬ 
tions and sterile queens.” 

Lady Westport rose, never quite at ease at her 
husband’s plain speech. Folly stood beside Chris, 
as the nobleman and his wife entered their coach 
of state, all blue velvet covered with gold lace, 



124 


FOLLY 


drawn by six prancing barbs, and attended by 
twenty pages rich in russet and azure. It looked 
as if royalty were leaving Westport Court; the 
street gamins cheered as if the King’s self were 
being driven ruthlessly through their packed 
midst. 

Chris and Folly took the simpler coach, and 
were driven to Thames Street, near White Hall 
Bridge. As they threaded their way through the 
squirming aisle made by four stout militiamen, the 
guns of the fleet were booming salvo after salvo of 
salutes for the royal barge, as yet invisible on the 
river. They mounted to the highest scaffold, where 
seats had been reserved for them. Chris left at 
once to reconnoiter for news of the exact stage in 
the proceedings, which gave Folly ample chance to 
spy around. Below her were packed very thou¬ 
sands of the scum of London alleys and lanes; 
only the scaffolds held silks and velvets, black 
patches and swords of state. She could see no 
river, so thick were the boats and barges clustered. 
Yet down the stream there was a rumbling thun¬ 
der of cheers, whose contagion spread momently 
toward her. They must be coming! 

Chris came back, his face grave. “We will see 
all, Folly; but God be thanked we are high here, 
and not one with the vermin that crawl under us on 
all sides. These are horrid creatures spet from 
the lowest stews and dives of the city; there is 
pollution in their very touch, and hatred of nobility 


THE SALAMANDER WOMAN 125 


in their every thought. They are wild dogs, cowed 
only by the pikes of the militia. Truly God made 
two orders of men, the nobles and the nothings; 
and there is naught, after all, beneath us.” 

“Yet even the noble, a half dozen generations 
back, sprang usually from the miry rabble; and 
among those beneath us are byblows of dukes and 
earls long gone.” 

“I cannot think-” 

A roar from beneath and around them drowned 
the rest of his words; and then the great guns 
across the river opened their throats, and bel¬ 
lowed their hot thunder in welcome to the new 
monarch. 

“George!” “King George!” “God bless King 
George!” was the burden of the frenzied howls 
below and around them. 

Folly, looking with interest upon the throbbing 
low life surrounding her, saw many a strange, sud¬ 
den drama. Here was a man who screamed out a 
cry for James’s son. Like wolves on a bayed 
stag, the huddle around him fell upon him, 
smothered him, overwhelmed him. She saw the 
militia dragging out a broken thing in rags, and 
turned away with a shudder. 

Here, in front, were half a dozen stalwart repub¬ 
licans, crying the Commonwealth. Their bold 
looks and stout blows overawed the raffish horde, 
and none durst near them. 

“—bless King George! King George!” 



126 


FOLLY 


The shouting and idiotic joy were beyond de¬ 
scription. Yet so, she thought, man hails any 
change—sweet commentary on his usual lot. 

At last she had a glimpse of the regal barge, 
brave in its silken banners. She stood on her feet 
for a confused vision of the landing, with fervid 
thousands kneeling in abasement to this mean 
German prince, as he stepped on England’s lordly 
soil for the first time. Horsemen, citizens, noble¬ 
men, rabble, all on their knees. The Mayor kneel¬ 
ing, and extending toward the King the staff of his 
office, in token of fealty. The staff pressed back 
into the man’s hands, with some unintelligible mut¬ 
ter in German, with suave translation from the 
English notable at his elbow. Why, it was that 
very Stanhope who had been at dinner last eve¬ 
ning! She had a close view for a second of George’s 
heavy face, blinking boredom at the tumult. What 
was the Mayor doing? He was handing over to 
the new sovereign an immense book, as large as 
the platter of baked marrow—a volume bound in 
white vellum, with a cross of purple and gold. The 
King was clucking something again; again Stan¬ 
hope was speaking, with a faint smile on his face. 
The royal head passed under the golden canopy 
at the head of the steps. There was a cheering 
interruption, while the King was unseen. 

Folly had a dazed sense that the world was 
shaking. She heard a queer straining sound, as 
if the foundations of eternity were giving. She 


THE SALAMANDER WOMAN 127 


looked, startled, at Chris; his rapt face was all for 
the royal scene; he had noticed nothing. 

Her eyes followed his toward the regal canopy: 
there was a great gold and white coach coming out 
from under its rich shelter. 

Good God, thought Folly, those two things in 
dark crimson who had walked right behind His 
Majesty must have been the two German mis¬ 
tresses! 

The crackling noise was plainer now; the scaf¬ 
fold lurched and quivered in the air. A scream to 
the right—and Folly saw at once what had caused 
the dreadful insecurity. The crowded scaffold 
next to her was settling, buckling beneath, upon the 
packed hundreds below it. A screaming from 
all sides: nobles, noblewomen, children, fighting 
for very life to press out of the sinking platform 
upon its insecure neighbors. One great tall soldier, 
with ribbons of honor upon his breast, was breast¬ 
ing his way, hurling men and women to right and 
left behind him, and hurling himself to safety. 
Others no less sacrificing: the sight shocked her 
out of her calm. She turned away. 

A different scream now—a scream of pain, from 
beneath the jerry-building. Prettily trapped, good 
men and women and children of London! So 
royalty and nobility press down on you, Folly 
thought at mutinous speed. Shout for your King 
now to aid you, as the heavy beams poise above 
you for a moment’s respite. You cannot move an 


128 


FOLLY 


inch in the horrid, tense press: you can only 

pray to your- Ah, there it is—crash! And 

the whole scaffold has tumbled down, scrambling 
nobility and gentility with the very dregs of the 
populace. 

A cloud of dust spurting up, like smoke. Shouts 
of the militia, as they toss men, women, children 
left and right, to make a path to the scene of the 
disaster. Chris, standing pale and contained, his 
one thought for Folly. Women in hysterics; help¬ 
ing hands pulling men, children, women to safety 
on this scaffold, which sways a bit uncertainly in 
the troubled air. Will they all crumble together? 
The scaffold beyond is quivering. Cries of pain 
from below, wild, insistent. 

And then, Folly saw a little child, a thing in 
utter rags, pressed against the ground by a beam 
that had fallen outward. Somehow the press has 
washed to the side, and even toward the river, 
where many clambered onto the moored boats; 
there was a dozen clear feet around the place 
where the child was caught. The child did not 
scream; her great, dumb, pleading eyes were 
raised to her heaven, and caught Folly’s wide eyes 
there. 

“Fm going,” she gasped aloud, from an order 
far deeper than words. 

“You’re—what?” 

“—To help her.” 

“It’s madness— You can’t—” Chris placed a 



THE SALAMANDER WOMAN 129 


restraining clench on her arm; his eyes burned in 
startling fright into hers. 

With one wild shake of her arm, she threw off 
his grasp, and lowered herself over the side of the 
scaffold. It was cross-latticed, thank God; her feet 
sought a place to hold; then one swung loose for 
a lower support. 

Chris was on his knees, his face close to hers. 
“In God’s name, Folly, have reason!” 

The threatening growl of the injured crowd be¬ 
low enveloped them like a net. 

“They are beasts—they will tear you in pieces! 
In your velvet gown-” 

Her head was gone from before his sight; she 
swung lower and lower. Her searching foot found 
no further support now. Clinging with her arms, 
she looked down; a good five feet to the ground. 
Closing her eyes, she threw herself outward. 

A moment later, and she had run to where the 
child was pinioned. Men stood around, staring 
stupidly at the sight, too panicky to move. 

“Lift that weight, there!” She spoke through 
clenched teeth. 

No one moved to obey here. She put her own 
arms around it, and strained, strained. It cut 
cruelly into her shoulder; she could barely move 
it. The poor child sobbed once as the pain shifted. 
Folly thought that her back would break. 

Then one among the men saw the thing, and 
placed his shoulder under the beam. It tumbled 



130 


FOLLY 


off to the side, throwing Folly to her knees at the 
sudden release. 

On her knees, in the dirt, she crawled over to 
where the little girl lay motionless. She took the 
child’s head in her lap. The closed eyes opened, 
a look of dreadful pain. There was blood on the 
babe’s rags. 

With all her self-command, Folly shut her eyes 
to the horror, stroked away the tangle of dirty curls 
from the girl’s forehead, and murmured broken 
endearments to her. By now the militia had broken 
through to the spot. A few deferential words, and 
they lifted the little burden, and took it away to 
be carried into the nearest hospital. Folly, still 
dazed, was aided to her feet; her eyes closed, 
everything swayed blackly around her. She 
hardly sensed Chris’s arm supporting her to the 
coach: she was almost fainting, as he managed 
her in. 

“That was utter folly,” he told her gravely, when 
they were almost back to the palace. “I do not 
know what Uncle Westport will say-” 

“And folly is my way, thank all the gods! If it 
takes folly to aid those in need, then may I walk 
in folly, till I walk no more!” 



CHAPTER VIII 
The Slender Mohock 

Maynard came upon Folly after dinner, and by 
some wordless agreement they passed together 
down the long hallways of the palace, to the North 
Wing. Here he took the lead, and turned up a 
curve of stately stairs that led to a fretted door set 
into the outer wall. Chris threw the lock, and 
stood aside for the girl to pass through. 

She stepped out of patterned London into a 
faerie world. The lofty portico on which she 
stood was gauded like a corner of Granada or 
more alien Bagdad. Grotesque pillars writhed up 
in alabaster from the murky floor to left and right, 
with fay arabesque plants in huge squat pots, all 
washed with unearthly colors in the dusk glimmer. 
Her eyes lifted to the end of the way. There, 
framed in an opening vaguely circular, yet fretted 
with embroidered loops and convolutions at its 
edge, was the world of the heavens. Against a 
strange sky of purplish blue, with a red pit-glare 
at the horizon, faint stars shivered above tall lace¬ 
like spires and one low bulbous dome. As she 
gazed, one star, the brightest, a smouldering em¬ 
erald, came to rest on the slender tip of the tallest 
131 


132 


FOLLY 


spire, and burned there like an eternal beacon 
which God had set in the socket of his earthly tab¬ 
ernacle. 

The witching mystery drew her feet forward 
toward the far glimpse of the drowsing city, and 
the farther sky. “It is not London,” she said 
softly. “It is Samarcand, or Cathay, or some 
wilder scene east of the heart and west of the 
soul—but never, never Bristol-on-Thames. Look, 
Chris, at the few faint lights far below us—eyes 
out of the huge darkness. A few houses—yes, 
and there are moving links down that way—and, 
if you listen, a fainter clamor, smoothed and 
almost smothered by our mountain isolation above 
it all. A marvelous nook, this, floating in the 
serene ether high above man’s low grovelling and 
tunnelling.” 

“I wanted you to see it. Folly,” he stared 
moodily off at the farthest star, “you were right 
today, and I was wrong. You should have gone 
down into that cursed mob, and given yourself if 
need be for the rag-tag brat.” 

“I know it was-” 

“And I will tell you why,” he continued, eyes 
still on their voyaging. “You are more than a 
sun kissing a drift of autumn leaves; and the sun 
does not cloak his light. I am too small to sacri¬ 
fice, I think; being so little, I am not great enough 
to give myself for another minim. But the great 
of earth have not stinted, when need arose. A 



THE SLENDER MOHOCK 


133 


greater than all chose the tree and the torture, for 
lesser ones he loved.” 

“Nonsense, Chris. The chit needed aid, and 
there was none but me to give it. No—it was not 
even that; I may as well be honest. At another 
moment I might not have lifted my finger. The 
mood was in me, and you know that I read my 
gospel there—to do still as I will.” 

He gestured imperatively out toward the waver¬ 
ing splendor of the night, which had deepened until 
all was hid below but a few faint smears of after¬ 
glow along the horizon, and, above, the brighten¬ 
ing stars. “In this pervading beauty, how can 
you set your whim so high—or yourself so low?” 
His tone was deeply serious; it rang in her ears 
like the deep tones of a bell. 

“When I give the reins to myself,” she thought 
aloud, “I must confess that I shut the door to the 
heavens and the trim wonder of earth. But who 
of us do not, Chris? If I did at this moment what 
I wished-” 

“Yes?” 

“—I would do what I cannot: be no more, ex¬ 
cept as part of something vaster and lovelier than 
I. I would float out into the starry wideness, all 
of me gone to glow in the bright stars. No more 
Folly Leigh, in all her littleness; only the immen¬ 
sity of the heavens. But that will come soon 
enough; death may be no more than such an out¬ 
ward sailing. Now, with that door closed, my wish 



134 


FOLLY 


is simpler: to ride on forever up the sunrise hill 
of the world; leading the spring within me to the 
winter without.” 

‘‘If I did at this moment what I wished-” 

And then he was oddly silent. 

She read it, before it budded on his lips. “It 
would be-” 

“You have given me no leave to speak,” his 
voice was like great music. “But my heart speaks 
within me, and here, against the sky, you can not 
be too offended at me.” 

“You—you would—” she prompted. 

“I—I—” he looked away. “I would hold you 
back,” he ended lamely. 

“Hold me back?” in real bewilderment. 

Then he turned, and kept silent no longer. 
“When you sought to dissolve into air, or ride 
alone over the rim of the earth. Dear Folly, it 
should be with me you ride; for, from the moment 
I saw you first, I have known that no other woman 
can enter my heart.” 

“ ? Tis little enough time,” she bantered lightly, 
to break the spell of his appeal. 

“When one sees heaven the first time-” 

“Ah, Chris, how like a man you are!” she ban¬ 
tered in pretty wickedness. “Willing to ride over 
the rim of the earth with me, you say, but quite un¬ 
willing, not so long ago, to ride over the heath 
with me from the White Bull.” 






THE SLENDER MOHOCK 


135 


“Oh, remind me of my failings—I earn it. My 
one palliation is that I love you.” 

“But what a word love has grown, since the 
Stuarts rode back to Angel-land! What is love? 

Men want my body-” 

Chris Maynard would not take his eyes from her 
own. “Do they want your soul as well?” 

“—A dancing swampligbt—a will-o’-the-wisp 

blown through the dusk-” 

“A star as steadfast as that beacon shining long 
after its earthly spire has gone with the day.” 

Folly’s laugh tinkled softly. “You are no 
soldier, Chris, but a poet—like your own great 
namesake, slain for love, was it not? Or are all 
of your name great in love?” 

“Folly-” 

She would not let go. “I would not have you 

slain for me, Chris-” 

“You cannot mean— 4 —” 

Her tone veered like a sail flapping; she was 
sober all at once. “I mean nothing, dear Chris; 
I do not know my own heart, save that it is young 
still, and—and like the wind still. You earn a 
better answer; but I can not give it.” 

“At least, I can hope-” 

“Be my friend, and my squire, and my knight 
now, Chris; let the rest flower at its will.” 

With this he was content; and together they 
turned for the descent. As they walked through 








136 


FOLLY 


the glimmering stone monsters on the portico, 
Folly slipped her hand, friendly-wise, into his; he 
could not speak, and he knew that his heart was 
beating, beating. 

When they at length came down to the great hall, 
Westport was pacing uneasily back and forth upon 
the thick carpet. He gave Folly one look, which 
Maynard missed. She saw at once all that was in 
his mind, of what had occurred since she left him. 

“I wondered where in the world you two young 
cuddlers had vanished to,” he chuckled broadly. 
“It is midnight soon. Bid Folly your adieux, Chris; 
I must talk with her about her plans in London.” 

The younger man bowed deferentially, blind to 
all but the surface of the situation. Folly made 
her curtsey last longer than usual, and watched his 
grave smile as he turned and left the two of them 
alone. 

“Come, my light-o’-love,” the nobleman caught 
her by the arm, and led her into a far embrasure of 
the library. “You cannot but be at loving at all 
hours, bless us! In dark niches with young Chris 
for four mortal hours—and I pining to death for 
the touch of you!” 

“We looked at the city from the porch high 
above,” she temporized. She put on a face of 
petty guilt, and smiled inwardly as she realized it; 
then perversely accentuated the effect. 

“If I thought that was all the lad had done, he 
would sink inestimably in my opinion. What’s a 


THE SLENDER MOHOCK 


137 


pretty woman for, damme, if not to be hugged and 
bussed in dark corners? Isn’t that so, sweet 
cousin?” 

“You are older than I,” she lowered demure 
eyes, “and should know.” 

“A pox on your eternal laughing at me, Folly!” 
He aimed a clumsy arm at her waist; to find her, 
with an indescribable movement of grace, slipped 
aside, the dancing mockery still in her eyes. 

“Why won’t you take me seriously?” he 
grumbled. 

“Must you qualify the query?” she teased. 

“Damme, no! Will you take me?” 

“Let me remember, now: I mustn’t look a gift 
in the mouth-” 

“Your wit parries like steel.” 

“I use steel, too,” she smiled. “You should see 
me with the foils, Stephen. I’ve taken on crack 
swordsmen-” 

“My dear girl,” he was the benevolent patron 
all at once, “that’s not for a woman.” 

“Oho! What do you call me, then?” 

“ ‘Forward girls make backward men,’ ” he 
quoted with unction. 

“Are you so backward, Stephen?” 

He smiled cynically. “With games like that, 
you bid fair to lose your reputation—and gain one 
you would not choose.” 

“My dear uncle, what would you have me do?” 

“ ‘Beware of Papishes, and learn to knit,’ ” he 




138 


FOLLY 


quoted sardonically. Then his tone altered, as he 
came closer. “To love me, Folly.” 

All the time, she had been aware that he had 
been closing awkwardly in on her, planning a 
repetition of his aborted embrace. A light danced 
in her eyes; and then she lidded them carefully. 

“Now, Folly-” 

He might think I were a mare, she thought to 
herself, that he must cure of restive prancing. 
“Yes, uncle?” 

More deftly now his arm made for her waist: 
to his amazement, she made no effort to escape. 
He held her close, and placed two or three dazed 
kisses on her cheek. She stood as stiff and un¬ 
moved as a wooden statue. 

“My God, girl, you’re not human! Cannot you 
ever unbend a trifle?” 

“I thought you wanted to kiss me, uncle.” 

“Not a whit. I wanted you to kiss me.” 

“When Will was in his cradle, he used to weep 
nightly for the great round moon,” she bantered 
casually. 

“Here’s one man will clip the moon, my lady. 
You will do what I say-” 

“How well you read the future!” 

“—For I stand high in the grace of His Majesty, 
so far at least; and you are not averse to being 
presented-” 

“Well, you vile pig!” Her gay laugh took 





THE SLENDER MOHOCK 139 

away all the sting. “So you’re going to sell your 
favors-” 

“I’m going to bring you crawling to my knees, 
and then lift you into my arms,” he conciliated his 
hunger with his grand gesture of achievement. 

“Heavens, what is in store for me! But, good 
nunkie,” and she nestled against him, patting his 
cheek, “you know you won’t put a price on what 
I want most, and must have-” 

“And what I want most, and must have-” 

he parroted. 

“We always get what we want most, if we have 
any mettle, and will pay the price,” she assured 
him cryptically. “When will you present me at 
Court?” 

“When will you accept me?” 

“Shall I say that after you have proved your 
esteem by granting me access to His Majesty, 
that-” 

“It’s a bargain!” 

“But let me finish. . . . —That I will give 

serious consideration to your humble petition—” 

“Humble feather-dusters!” 

“—And make you an answer that will not 
wholly deject you?” 

“Girl, you have a shrewd head above your 
lovely body. We will see, we will see. We’ll 
have little name left, if we loll and lip around 
thus late-” 







140 


FOLLY 


“Come, Stephen, run away to bed now; I 
must protect your name,” she urged solicitously. 
Grumbling threats at her delay, he left her at last. 

This was only the first of many such assaults; 
and she found the nobleman an annoyingly per¬ 
sistent suitor. There was a hint of delicacy in 
his technique, she adjudged; but it was soon obvi¬ 
ous that she parried once and struck twice, to every 
blow that he essayed to land. If this was the tim¬ 
ber of the court, she would have small room to 
fear. 

But his persistence continued, despite her de¬ 
fense. The matter of a presentation was contin¬ 
ually postponed, on grounds that sounded reason¬ 
able; and she began to see that his policy was one 
of attrition, to wear down her resistance, and 
achieve his goal, before he granted what she 
wished. Meanwhile, there was her duty to Will. 
... It would be unthinkable to mention the mat¬ 
ter to Chris; he would fly into a smouldering rage, 
and like as not break finally with his relative and 
protector; which would be the worst thing in the 
world for the lad’s future. Who could she call 
upon, to aid her in restraining the buzzing noble¬ 
man? Or at least in stinging him in some way? 
For her crafty game must continue, until she 
reached the royal ear. 

She was still mulling over the problem, when 
Westport asked her to return to Viscount Innis a 
dainty folio of The Rape of the Lock, which he 


THE SLENDER MOHOCK 


141 


had borrowed from that social elegant. She won¬ 
dered, as she was driven over by St. James’s Park, 
whether Innis would aid her. She could at least 
sound him out upon it. 

He sent word for her to come up, although his 
man said that he was suffering from a slight 
rheum. 

As she entered, he turned a pain-drawn face up 
at her, and laid down softly the volume he was 
reading. “I can never peruse Mr. Addison’s 
‘Cato,’ ” he explained, “without tears for that un¬ 
happy hero’s fate.” From his wadded taffeta 
dressing-gown, a beribboned garment of palest 
spring green, he plucked out a worked handker¬ 
chief, to dab away the damp tribute of a tear. 

“It moves you so?” marvelled Folly, a bit over¬ 
come by the perfumed elegance of the room. 

“But I am sensitive,” he explained, as if that 
one word unlocked the whole explanation. 

“Mr. Addison, to me,” she ventured uncer¬ 
tainly, “is so painfully correct, that he has a 
marked case of ingrowing rectitude.” 

“Alack, Mistress Folly, but you grieve me to 
the heart!” Daintily he flirted the handkerchief 
hand, and laid it, cambric and all, against that 
part of the padding which his layman’s mind 
assumed covered his heart. “You, I know, can 
participate in the delicate emotion I feel—the bor¬ 
rowed grief for that tragic lord!” 

She shrugged easily. “I hold his talk either 


142 


FOLLY 


drivel or fustian: poetic shoddy. And the tire¬ 
some Roman surely is a masque, rather than a 
man.” 

“Ah, Mistress Folly, you are too young, too un¬ 
touched by the rude blast of man’s adversity, to 
share the poignancy of that great soul’s lucubra¬ 
tions.” He heaved a tender sigh, and whisked 
at his eye again. “I weep for him; I weep for 
his monumental fall, in a world of noisome ig¬ 
norance.” 

A spirit of perversity made her argue the point. 
“But he was the most inflated fool in all Rome, 
Eddie; a-” 

A slight spasm crossed his face at her collo¬ 
quialism. “Edwin, my lady dear; the vulgar term 
always pains me.” 

“You didn’t use to be so twitchy about your 
name, when we romped together,” she flashed. 

He shrugged—a gesture that languished dain¬ 
tily away. “Ah, my dear, but I have learned much 
since I came to Court. All the young men of 
quality have become sensitive, in this harsh and 
bickering age.” 

“It is about Court that I came to see you,” she 
seized the verbal straw eagerly. “Can you present 
me to His German Majesty?” 

“Fie, fie, girl, how the burrs tumble from your 
tongue! Of course I could present you; with your 
Uncle Westport, I dare say?” 

“There’s the trouble, Eddie—I crave your 



THE SLENDER MOHOCK 143 

humble pardon, my treasured lord: Edwin. Ste¬ 
phen’s a bit mulish-” 

“Folly, Folly, where did such speech breed? It 
irks me to my tender soul to have your delicate 
lips seared with such raffish words.” 

“They’re damned good words, Eddie Innis, 
make no mistake.” 

“I grow faint, Mistress Folly,” he sighed 
affectedly, reaching for his phial of eau de 
cologne . “My humor is very sensitive today; this 
rheum, alas, has made me more delicate than 
usual.” Again the flimsy handkerchief was called 
into play. 

The servant appeared, to announce that Colonel 
Pett desired an audience. Folly rose to depart. 

“Prithee, sweet maid, stay by me; for this rau¬ 
cous blade jars terribly upon me. Heaven knows 
what ill zephyr wafts him hither.” 

“Hi lo, my lordling!” called out the jovial 
voice of the colonel, as he ascended the hall stair. 
He was a bit abashed to find a lady in audience, 
and bowed profoundly, with a sly twinkle in his eye. 

“Good morrow, good sir,” said Ifmis, doing his 
best to hide the distaste upon his features. 

“Invalided, ha? A good nogg of whiskey, and 
you’d knock the rheum galley-west.” 

“I fear not; my frame, alas, is peculiarly sus¬ 
ceptible to drafts and fevers.” 

“I came to bid you to a cockfight tonight; 
but-” 




144 


FOLLY 


“My dear Colonel Pett, on no account could I 
subject my person to that gross and sanguine 
sport. My nerves could never bear it! I’d faint 
flat away, God’s my life!” 

“Well, you phrased the wish, sir, that we could 
take in some of the amusements of London to¬ 
gether-” 

“I thought, a visit to one of the more elegant 
coffee-houses, or a salon of one of the soberer 
matrons-” 

“And you call those amusements! When you’re 
recovered, my lord, I trust you will not overexert 
yourself: I fear it would be fatal to confront aught 
but cambric tea. Good day, my lady—your face 
makes any day fair.” 

She spoke slowly, having thought quickly. “I 
am leaving too, Colonel. Will you see me to my 
coach?” 

“Ay, or anywhere you name.” 

“Good day, my lord,” she gave him her most 
mocking curtsey. “I trust that your rheum 
lighten.” 

“I pray so,” mourned Innis disconsolately. 

Folly descended the stairs, her mind made up. 
At the coach, she held Pett in conversation at the 
window. “May I take you to your destina¬ 
tion?” 

“It is next door, ungrateful gallant that I am, 
and I am stayed for now. Otherwise,” he leered 
openly, “I would lie like a Frencher, and have 




THE SLENDER MOHOCK 145 

you ride me over half London, merely to sit by 
you.” 

Folly’s face brightened. What if she should 
earn a world of rebuking looks, for holding the 
man in talk at her coach window? This was too 
good a chance to lose. 

“What do you think of my Uncle Westport?” 
she asked directly. 

“A damned good bully, in many ways. But he 
treads on my toes, with his persistent elegance and 
his perpetual chasing of reluctant women,” Pett 
answered her, with uncanny shrewdness, watching 
her face all the while. 

“And I live in his house,” said Folly, admit¬ 
ting much as yet unsaid. 

Pett bowed in understanding. 

“Shall I call him out, my lady? And will you 
be the spoils of war? I’d run little Hanover 
through for less.” 

“Too fast, too fast,” she smiled tolerantly. “He 
is my protector, after all. Perhaps some milder 
cure. ... If you had a few friends you could 
trust-” 

“I am wise enough to have more friends than 
lovers, and foolish enough to have more friends 
than gold pieces.” 

“Gifted enough, I should put it, in this age of 

sale. But that’s good. . . . Let me see-Where 

will you see him next? Does he go by any chance 
to this cockfight-” 




146 


FOLLY 


“Westport? Damme, he haunts the pit like the 
ghosts of roosters slain.” 

“Better yet.” Her color heightened. “May I go?” 

His face broke into consternation. “What are 
you asking! Women are unthinkable at such 
places.” 

“Need I be a woman, for this night only?” her 
slanting eyes tempted him. 

“Hmm- I did not tell the half to that be- 

ribboned puppy, with his damned eau de cologne 
and other stink water. I am not bid to the fight— 
I go an uninvited guest, and there may be knocks 
and heads broken.” 

“But how-” 

He studied her face carefully. “You can hold 
your lovely tongue?” He hummed something un¬ 
der his breath. “You know the tune?” 

“Not I-” 

“ ‘Then a Mohock, a Mohock I’ll be’—you’ve 
heard of the Mohocks, surely?” 

“Who has not? Haven’t you broke more win¬ 
dows than the great storm?” 

“I? Hmm—well, no man of my standing, of 
course, could belong; but in confidence, to you, I 

may say- You see? We’ll bully and beat 

our way in, if need be, and crack a few heads in 
the process.” 

“Including—Westport’s?” 

“My dearest lady, that is a steed of a different 
hue. He is, after all, great in the kingdom. Yet 






THE SLENDER MOHOCK 


147 


some of his pranks- And why not, if there 

were a real reason? We’d trounce the Pope him¬ 
self, or the Sultan Suleiman, if a woman bade. 
Yes, it might be done.” 

“And I go?” Her blue eyes caught him. 

“But—a girl-” 

“I am slim for a maid, Colonel-” 

“Shall I look shocked?” 

“You will behave, instead. And tonight, I will 
be a boy. Have I your yes on it?” 

“By God, but you have wit and mettle!” He 
eyed her with appraising approval. “You shall 
go, as my page, or what not, and in reality my 

captain. I’m master cooper of the Mohocks-” 

“Cooper?” 

“I barrel up the old women, to roll ’em down 
hill. As for that damned privy councillor, we’ll 
scalp him, if you give the word, or truss him up, 

roll him down Ludgate Hill, or-” 

“While then, I shall study out just what should 
be done to him. I shall meet you where, and 
when?” 

The details all fixed, Folly watched him stride 
away, warmed at heart for the first time in days. 
She had an ally, now; one who might become dan¬ 
gerous, as Wynne might have; but one who would 
do her bidding, if she kept her head level and her 
wits untarnished. As for Westport, it might do no 
good, but it would certes do no harm, to give him 
a brief unease. He had earned this, and far more! 







CHAPTER IX 
A Trip Down the Hill 

Even with Hannah’s loyal aid, Folly needed all 
her ingenuity to secure the page’s costume, dress 
in it after dinner, and slip away unnoticed from 
the palace; but what she needed she found some¬ 
how. 

Pett, all eagerness for her approach, slid back 
his door at her faint tap, and let her into his room. 
“By Gad, you’re the spit of a boy! Give us a buss, 
my bonny!” making to take it without more ado. 

Folly rattled her short sword warningly. “Fie, 
Colonel, would you kiss a boy? Keep back, 
sirrah, or I draw!” 

“I’ll bet you never held a foil in your hand!” 

“Pay the forfeit, then, and presently. I have 
not only taken lessons, but have bested my master 
more than once. Are we ready to start?” 

“A trifle rathe yet. Find a seat on that chest, 
there—it came all the way from the Bermoothes, 
when I saw service in His Majesty’s overseas hell- 
fringes. Tell me, what sort of maid are you?” 

“I am a maid, Colonel.” 

“If you are truthful, and in London too, the 
eighth wonder of the world has been found. Yet 
I repeat: what sort of maid?” 

148 


A TRIP DOWN THE HILL 


149 


“Must you file us all, our complexions and 
tempers, heights and weights, as if we were cocks 
in training? But you want me to talk, and I— 
less the boy than the woman—never shrink from 
that. I am a singularly modern maid, and yet, in 
fine, highly untypical.” 

“Item?” 

“I have never loved, much less preempted the 
man’s role, and made love first, as is the custom 
of the sweet maids at court.” 

“By Gad, but you are as rare as a roc’s egg!” 

“Untypical, I said. I have little gold, more¬ 
over, and do not desire it-” 

“And alive today!” 

“—Precisely; for I get all that I wish without 
it. I am nineteen, a damned good hand at the 
foils or at pistols, ride like a cavalry trooper when 
he is sober, and drink my gin when I have a 
colic.” 

“And when is a society woman without her con¬ 
venient colic?” he chuckled. 

“A lovely line,” she confessed. 

“Not my own, worse fate. John Gay, the 
naughty poet whose ‘Three Hours After Marriage’ 
stirred the town so last year, sprung it at Will’s— 
I know not who he got it from. What more can 
you say for yourself?” 

“Tell me now about the Mohocks; my own 
spring is run wholly dry. I know that your com¬ 
panions are all gentlemen of fashion-” 




150 


FOLLY 


“Yes; though their courtesy is laid off as their 
masks are laid on.?’ 

“You ruffle the good citizens of London in many 
ingenious ways-” 

“You shall be judge, this night. I was out last 
Friday with the Indians; and what we failed to 
do! Can I recall. . . . There was a burgher, 
God shield us, an alderman at least, a stout son of 
a slut in silks and purples, with his great, gross, 
bedizened wife pussed up beside him. ‘Out with 
you!’ Out they tumbled from their coach, trem¬ 
bling all over. ‘Dance, damn you!’ ‘But I never 

learned—I am a Friend—a Quaker-’ We 

friended him; he quaked enough. A few sword 
pricks in the calf set him to frolicking like a 
lambkin in June; and as for his fat wife—I’ll 
shock your dainty ears, my lady, I fear-” 

“A tierce of wine if you do.” 

“We stood the old hag on her painted head, 
until she wept for mercy.” 

“What’s shocking about that? Legs were made 
before farthingales, I venture.” 

“And will last, God be thankit, long after ’em. 
These were agreeable victims; but we get some 
who are not so pleased to follow our words, and it 
is not so easy for them.” 

“You poke ’em off?” She was embarked, and 
must not flinch the worst. 

“Oh, not that bad. But when a man is bound 
and thwacked all over; when his nose is slit, and 





A TRIP DOWN THE HILL 


151 


flattened with the thumb till it breaks; when the 
eyeballs are thumbed artistically away from their 
sockets-” 

“Well, not that for Westport. Some simpler bit 
of indignity-” 

“Leave it to me, Fol- Let me see: Philip— 

how’s that for your name, my lad? God filliped 
you from his thumb in some gracious moment—” 

“If all the Mohocks have your courtesy-” 

He slipped on his mask with a deft twirl of his 
wrist. “Now, you dratted hedge-spawn, put on 
that mask and hie at my heels, or I’ll-” 

“I like you both ways,” said Folly-Philip, fol¬ 
lowing his example. 

They walked out into the street, and a short 
distance away, at a tavern, met with half a dozen 
more with the same vizards. Pett explained cas¬ 
ually that he had brought a nephew along; and 
the group set out at once for the old cockpit on 
Shoe Lane. 

The colonel fitted in his stride to Folly’s, and 
with her came last. He whispered to her all the 
way—little stories of Mohock exploits, gossip of 
the crescent scandals at the new court, and of the 
interred imbroglios of the former reigns. 

“How long do you expect to remain a maid,” he 
bantered, “in such company as this?” 

“Just as long as I choose to,” she answered him 
promptly. 

“But, in the eyes of society, you’ll soon be an 







152 


FOLLY 


outclassed thing, won’t you, my dear? Unless 
you guard your name-” 

“Was Castelmain outlawed, under second 
Charley? Are you outlawed, or Westport, for 
amorous dabbling? What’s sauce for the gander 
is admirable sauce for the goose, you will soon 
find.” 

“You grant you are one-” 

“And know I am; which sets me far ahead of 
the rest of the world.” 

“And a goose at a cockfight-” 

“No goose tonight, but a Mohock-” 

He ran his hand along her waist. “I will re¬ 
member, my minion.” 

The others had stopped in front of a dark 
entrance-way, and after a buzzing consultation, 
one knocked briskly on the unwelcoming door. 
It was cautiously opened from within. One mo¬ 
ment later, the guardian had been trundled with¬ 
out ceremony down the line of midnight marau¬ 
ders, until he was held by Pett, Folly, and a third 
one of the crew. 

“Shall we slit your throat now, or do we enter?” 

The man’s face frogged in his fright. “G-g-go 
right in-” 

“Not a rustle from you, or, by God’s son- 
ties-” 

The eight of them passed within the hall, and 
down it to its lower end. The leader pushed open 
the door; the masked figures silently ranged 








A TRIP DOWN THE HILL 153 

themselves against the inner wall, behind the 
outer ring of spectators. 

A bout between two birds was going on at the 
time; interest was so tense upon it, that no one 
noticed the newcomers. Folly looked at the 
people, before she turned to the sport. There was 
a strange mixture of high and low: there were 
noblemen and rich citizens furbelowed beyond all 
reason, and so on down to farriers, joiners, 
tinkers, draymen, vintner’s apprentices, and thieves 
and beggars from the dock regions. Ah, there was 
her uncle—his back to them, swearing on a be¬ 
draggled black cock who was lurching blindly 
toward his opponent, a princely Indian game. As 
she stared, fascinated, at the strange man-bred 
duel, she saw the Indian give one head blow at the 
black cock, who slowly toppled to his breast, and 
died. 

There was an indescribable hub-bub as this bout 
concluded, and the crier announced the last con¬ 
test. Westport, red and swollen of face, was shov¬ 
ing this way and that, shaking his money in the 
faces of one and all, laying bets with wild aban¬ 
don; the same spirit animated all but the eight 
Mohocks soberly lined up against the side wall. 

Now the cocks were released, and at it: blow 
after staggering blow, with spurted blood over the 
pit floor, and splashing out upon the front row of 
spectators. The betting continued at a curious 
rate; the cocks were apparently an even match. 


154 


FOLLY 


Then came a series of springs from the heavier 
cock, which caught the other bird repeatedly off 
guard. Folly heard one man groaning aloud that 
the lesser bird was already blind. Yet he contin¬ 
ued to stagger back to face his opponent. 

Some wild fanatic was rushing around the ring, 
offering ten pounds against a crown. The men 
were holding back the birds now; the madman 
screamed incoherent demands for a taker for his 
bet, and found no answer. 

“It’s over,” she heard on all sides of her. 
“Black Roy wins.” 

The onlookers began milling sweatily for the 
exit. The eight Mohocks gravitated together into 
a solid clot to one side of the door, and stood 
watching those who departed. 

Here was Westport at last, a fleck of blood on 
his white silk waistcoat, voice hoarse, face hag¬ 
gard and shrewd. The eight let him pass, and 
tailed in immediately after him. Folly felt her 
blood racing, as the climax of the evening neared. 
Through the dark passage, past the doorman, who 
had not yet recovered from his fright, and out 
into the welcome sweet air they went. 

As he reached the roadway, the eight Mohocks 
deftly clove him from his friends: the astonished 
nobleman looked up to find himself clipped be¬ 
tween two masked figures, with half a dozen more 
pressing close around him. 

“Tell your friends adieu,” Pett’s voice was as 


A TRIP DOWN THE HILL 155 

masked as his face, “and hie along without any 
hurly-burly.” 

Deeming the matter some huge joke, he com¬ 
plied. The kidnappers made for Ludgate Hill, 
with the still amused nobleman in their packed 
midst. One or two from the cockfight showed a 
curiosity to follow; the sight of bare blades sent 
them quickly enough back into their own paths. 

They struck the base of the hill, and had mounted 
half of its stretch, when Pett, by a low command, 
stopped them. “I hear steps following,” he ex¬ 
plained. “I have for quite a time, but wanted to 
make sure. Holla, you there,” he addressed the 
shadows behind him, “come out into the light, 
where we can talk to you! What would you have?” 

The man—there was only one—stepped boldly 
out and faced them. He was a great burly com¬ 
moner, whom Folly had noted at the cockmatch. 
He must have followed silently all this way. 

“Can’t you speak?” continued Pett, in irritation. 
“Why do you follow decent citizens, engaged upon 
their friendly sport?” 

“He is a good gentleman,” the man grunted la¬ 
boriously out, with a bent thumb toward the will¬ 
ing prisoner. “You won’t hurt him, with Long 
Wat around.” 

“You’re a Long What, my friend?” 

There was a quiet snicker from the others. The 
man owled stupidly at them. 

“Sure, I be Long Wat.” 


156 


FOLLY 


“Well, Long Whatever you are, get you back 
running on your toes, before I run something else 
through you.” 

“He is a good gentleman,” the commoner re¬ 
peated stubbornly. “You won’t hurt him, while 
Long-” 

“Come here,” ordered Pett sharply. The huge 
hulk of the fellow came closer. With startling 
suddenness Pett flung himself at the other man; his 
two fists rose together at the staring face. There 
was a groan, and the tall man collapsed to the 
ground. 

Pett kicked savagely at the man’s sides. “March 
on,” he ordered quietly. “He can sleep here a 
space.” 

More sobered now, Westport continued with his 
captors up the hill. When they neared the top, the 
group, at a signal from Pett, stopped and drew 
away from their victim. He continued to face 
them with a pleasant smile. 

“You have sinned, and for that you must pay 
your dole to Minos,” said Pett in a sepulchral tone. 
“Sir Seneschal, read you the file of offenses.” 

One of the others, in an unimpressive voice 
swollen till it cracked, read slowly: “Item, that 
Stephen Westport stands too high at Court, and is 
a privy councillor.” 

“Guilty or not guilty?” 

“Guilty, my lords and peers. What penalty 
must I pay?” in unruffled good humor. 



A TRIP DOWN THE HILL 


157 


if the whole unreal process had been re- 
-ed, Pett was ready at the cue. “It is solemnly 
d< ed that you now delight us with a coranto, 
sue as Claude Duval trod with a lady on Houns* 
1 o t Heath.” 

was not born to dance in air without a fiddle,” 
aptive jested gently. “Nor is there lady here 
f< ne? Well, when needs must, one’s best is all 
or has.” With indescribable grace, for all his 
h y form, and with a disdainful smile upon his 
the earl went through the elaborate steps of 
11 lance. Folly could not help admiring his 
c( oosure in the masked night. 

iood. Proceed, Sir Seneschal.” 
fern, that Stephen Westport hath too much of 
tl world’s goods.” 

'Guilty or not guilty?” 

Too much? Well, I’ll grant that too: what 
irn; has not? Bare I came into the world, and 
br. I shall leave. So I’ll say guilty, my lords— 
a ough my father and my sovereign perhaps 
si; old stand in the dock beside me. What is your 
wL?” 

Chat you show your humility by grovelling on 
y hands and knees around our magic circle, 
rr 1 awhile baying the faint moon; and conclude 
b lying your head upon the ground, and elevat- 
ir our feet toward the zenith.” 

: all courts of justice, thought Folly, could be 
S( rompt, apt, and sensible! 


158 


FOLLY 


With a sigh of mock protest, Westport went 
through the ridiculous exaction too. His face con¬ 
tinued in such sober contrast to his posturings that 
the Mohocks could not help but laugh; as he 
tumbled to his side, after a vain effort to stand 
upon his head, he joined heartily with the others. 

He rose to his feet, dusting off his clothes; he 
was still serene and unperturbable. He was clearly 
above the horseplay. 

“Good. On with your tale, Sir Seneschal.” 

“Item, that Stephen Westport’s seductions are so 
multitudinous and unflagging, that there is hardly 
an unsullied damsel left in London, to the great 
discomfort of the noble Mohocks. Shall I con¬ 
tinue?” addressing the leader. 

“Proceed.” 

“Item, that he hath turned the Thames garden 
of virtue into a wilderness of jades, huzzies, bag¬ 
gages, trulls, wenches, trollops, coazers, vixens, 
doxies, divers, slatterns and sluts.” 

“What a man your criminal must be!” marvelled 
Westport, in high good humor. 

“Item, that he hath already set himself after 
the new maids at court, with unexampled success. 
Item, that he hath installed his latest mistress in 
his own palace, thereby offending the sober de¬ 
corum of His Majesty’s Britannic Isle.” 

“Do you plead guilty or not guilty?” 

“But why throw my virtues in my teeth, as 
charges?” he bantered, quite at ease. “Can one 


A TRIP DOWN THE HILL 


159 


plead guilty to this, without boasting? But to 
most of the charge, I proudly plead guilty. To the 
last item, confession and avoidance. I have never 
installed a mistress in my palace, because it never 
occurred to me to do so.” 

“Yet the young hussy has been overseen there.” 

“Oh!” A light broke on him. “Oh—not guilty, 
to that. The very reverse. The young woman in 
question is my ward, and emphatically not my mis¬ 
tress.” 

“Why not? Is she not comely?” 

There was a general chuckle at this; but West¬ 
port’s raised hand stilled the laughter. “My ward 
and my kinswoman, noble Mohocks.” 

“And untouched by you?” 

“Absolutely.” 

“You harbor no designs against her?” 

“None whatsoever.” 

“Should he not be punished for that, noble Mo¬ 
hocks?” There was another chuckle at the grave 
query. “Will you give us your word, Stephen 
Westport, that you will give no color of truth to 
this rumor, but act toward the girl as kinsman 
and guardian ought?” 

“I give you my word, gentlemen.” 

“With our customary oath?” 

“I will swear to repel her even, if she rut un¬ 
mannerly.” 

“Bring then the sacred Mohock shrine, and let 
the oath be administered!” 


160 


FOLLY 


From the obscurity, where it had evidently been 
placed or located previously, two of the masked 
figures brought out a barrel, with its head staved 
in. 

“Mount within the shrine, criminal!” 

With more reluctance this time, the nobleman did 
as he was bid. The whole thing had seemed like 
farce thus far, albeit unpleasing farce. Surely 
they would do nothing to really discommode him, 
Stephen Westport! 

“Within this shrine you give your pledge?” 

“I do,” with mocking serenity. 

“Set him upon his way, with the sacred shrine 
as his company, that he may remember this 
oath!” 

In a trice, four of the Mohocks had seized the 
cask, and laid it upon its side. One mighty heave, 
and it commenced its mighty helter-skelter descent 
down the murk of the hill. They could hear West¬ 
port’s cries and oaths, as he realized his plight, and 
tried to stop the passage. There was a crash off at 
the side, a groan, a renewed splutter of oaths. 

“He’s only shaken up a trifle; but we had best 
depart, before he rouses the watch.” 

At once the company made at a trot for a side 
lane down the hill, and were soon at its base by a 
different route. 

“I’ll get you to my home now—” began Pett. 

There was a sudden interruption from ahead. 
A group of men, a swirling surge far more numer- 


A TRIP DOWN THE HILL 


161 


ous that this eight, eddied around their progress, 
with jubilant cries. 

“Fiend’s luck,” groaned Pett aside to the girl. 
“Here’s a regular pother of the Mohocks, and 
they’ll be going to Red John’s, where all unmask— 

Come with me, at once-” 

It was too late. The newcomers had ringed the 
former group, fraternized with them, and were ex¬ 
changing anecdotes of the night’s happenings. 
Folly found her arm torn in brusque good humor 
from the colonel’s, and, with a new companion on 
each side, knew herself one of a marching com¬ 
pany swinging down the dark street, to the rhythm 
of a shouted, drunken catch. The girl soon made 
out the words, to the pretty tune of Mr, Gay’s—the 
roared troll, 

“Then a Mohock, a Mohock I’ll be, 

No laws can restrain 
Our lecherous reign— 

We’ll riot, and drink, and be free!” 

A gross bass took up one of the stanzas: 

“We will scour all the town, 

Knock the constable down, 

Put the watch and the beadle to flight; 
Force all that we meet 
To kneel at our feet, 

And worship us, lords of the night! 

Chorus there—and wake it!” 



162 FOLLY 

The whole body joined zestfully in the next 
stanza: 

“The Grand Sultan shall own 

His seraglio outdone, 

For all womankind is our booty! 

No complexion we spare: 

Be they black, brown, or fair, 

We make them fall down, and do duty! 

For a Mohock, a Mohock I’ll be-” 

It made an admirable marching song, Folly de¬ 
cided. She sang it and tramped ahead as lustily 
as the next. 



CHAPTER X 
Swords Out 

They surged at last into that strange sink of 
braggadocio called Red John’s. As they trooped 
noisily to their seats, the man beyond Folly lurched 
into her, sending her reeling against the man on 
her right. 

“Keep off my feet,” he growled, “or I’ll cuff 
you one on the mazard.” 

Folly glowered in turn, and spoke with tones 
of steel: “Keep your damned feet out of my way, 
or I’ll ram my dirk down your gullet so quick 
you’ll never dream what hit you! Is that clear 
enough, my friend?” 

“No offense, master,” in a conciliatory tone. 
“I didn’t note you were pushed-” 

“I’ve spilt blood for less” growled the girl, in as 
deep a tone as she could bring forth. “But it’s no 
matter-” 

Somehow she preempted a seat at the vast table, 
and set her wits to locating the masks she had 
started out with. A cautious wafture of the hand 
from directly across from her, and she had identi¬ 
fied Pett, who was on edge to get his signal to her. 
She nodded gaily, to let him know that she would 
163 




164 FOLLY 

see the thing through, and be wary for any signal 
he might give her. 

The waiters brought in immense platters of 
turkey, the bird from the New World, and roasts 
of England’s beef; with great pewter tankards of 
ale to wash down the food. The talk became up¬ 
roarious, Folly joining in enough to lull suspicion, 
and not enough to wake it. 

The topic, at her side of the table, veered to the 
King’s levee that morning, at which he had touched 
a score of unfortunates suffering from the King’s 
Evil, as the scrofula was named. 

“One old man,” scoffed a jovial voice down the 
table three seats from the girl, “told me that he 
had been touched in succession by second James, 
William, Anne, and now George, and trusted to 
be cured this time!” 

“But the royal hand is a sovereign remedy,” 
objected another. 

“Just as shaving the hair, and applying pigeons 
to the soles of the feet, is an unerring cure for 
the spotted fever,” inserted a meticulous voice to 
her right. 

“You can’t tell me-” 

“At the Cathedral St. Denis, near Paris,” the 
precise voice continued undisturbed, “I have seen 
relics which work wonderful cures. There was a 
crucifix of the true wood of the cross, carved by 
Pope Clement III—a sovereign balm for the 
dropsy; there was-” 




SWORDS OUT 


165 


“I can well believe-” Someone was desper¬ 

ately trying to be heard. 

It was hopeless. 66 -a cup from which Solo¬ 

mon used to drink; a draft from it eased any 
ulcerated tooth. There was a nail from our 
Saviour’s cross, which cured the quinsy; a box 
containing some of the Virgin’s hair-” 

“Now there’s a remedy for you!” roared the big 
jovial voice again. 

“-for the ague; and a huge reliquary con¬ 

taining some of our Saviour’s blood, hair, clothes, 
nativity cloths, linen with which he wiped the 
apostles’ feet-” 

“Wasn’t the tongue of Balaam’s ass there, 
too?” 

“-and a part of the water pot in which our 

Saviour did his first miracle,” the precise voice 
meticulously stepped ahead, “all an inerrant anti¬ 
dote for the palsy. I saw them myself.” 

“Amazing!” boomed the great jovial voice. “In 
the same church, did you see the monument to the 
Countess of Holland who had three hundred and 
sixty-five children at one birth?” 

“Nonsense!” 

“-mere zany!” 

“I saw the basins hung up, in which each of the 
brats was baptized. But, you know, there’s no 
cure for some things. I come from Lancashire, 
I do; and all the kings from William Conqueror 
couldn’t heal a man bit by one of our serpents.” 









166 


FOLLY 


“Out in Cornwall-” 

“Why, our serpents,” he held the floor by bel¬ 
lowing, “are so potent that they can poison a lark 
in air.” 

“Mere blether!” 

“Fustian, man!” 

“I tell you I have seen it, and, by God, you 
don’t dare say I haven’t! These great snakes 
watch the lark as he soars to his highest point, then 
snake along until they lie right under the soaring 
bird. Psstt! They shoot their venom straight up 
into the air, until it reaches the lofty fowl. Again 
and again I’ve seen the lark falter, and spiral 
slowly to earth, landing always exactly in the 
opened mouth of the serpent. Now if such 
snakes-” 

“WhenY was in Brittany-” 

“-if such serpents,” in a voice of indescrib¬ 

able force, “I maintain, can spit poison a mile in 
air, and quell a bird, what would they do at close 
quarters to a man? I ask you that!” 

“Have you ever seen a drowned negro?” in¬ 
jected the precise voice to the girl’s right. 

“In Brittany, they say that-” 

“-but I have, on my last voyage to 

Hispaniola, in Captain Fry’s ship. Two of them 
—drowned—and their skin bleached by the water 
white as a paschal lily, as I am a Christian!” 

A roar of laughter from the Lancashire man, 
and several others, greeted this sober affirmation. 







SWORDS OUT 


167 


“Then I venture the black men turned green or 
magenta, on my word as a true believer!” 

“But I insist-” 

“Don’t tell me. A drowned blackamoor may 
turn pink or carmine, for all I care; but I say, and 
I say again, there is no cure, this side of God’s 
Acre, for a bite of snake or tarantula. I come 

from Lancashire, and-” 

Folly, wearied by the blown marvels, spoke out 
with heavy vehemence. “Perhaps there is no cure 
for Lancashire,” she said, “but there is a cure for 
the bite of the tarantula, as every true Yorkshire- 
man knows well.” 

“Why, you whipper-snapper-” 

“I t ell you-” 

“-give the lad a voice!” 

“I tell you,” she persisted, amused at the dis¬ 
may evident in Pett’s whole bearing across the 
table—clearly he wanted her to be neither seen 
nor heard, and very perversity made her continue 
—“I tell you, the music of the fiddle is an absolute 
cure for it.” 

“That’s right!” 

“-I’ve known many cases.” 

“And my father told me-” 

“Why, all harvest long,” one man corroborated 
heatedly, “in Yorkshire, the fiddlers promenade 
up and down the aftermath, in the hope of being 
hired by those who are stung by the rascally crea¬ 
tures.” 









168 


FOLLY 


Pett had risen quietly, with an imperative ges¬ 
ture to Folly to tail him. He made his way around 
the bottom of the table; and, coasting down behind 
the diners on her side, she did so. But two others 
rose with her, and came too. 

“Where’s the room?” one of them queried 
heavily. 

“I felt a touch of fever,” she explained cannily, 
“and merely wanted a breath of night air-” 

Pett was with her now, and injected himself. 
“Come, this way-” 

“Nonsense,” a burly interrupted, catching at her 
arm and pulling her into a vacant seat beside him. 
“ ’Twill do young blades good to zop up tobacco 
smoke and ale fumes. Zit down an’ strike up a 
chorus!” 

Pett hovered distractedly at her back; he real¬ 
ized the danger more than she, and she sensed 
this at once. Well, if she could not, she could not, 
and there was an end to it. 

“Order, order!” thundered down the table, from 
the head. “The chair is up!” 

“-the hour,” Folly heard, “as Master Alex 

Pope hath amended rude Will of Stratford, 

Tt is that hour of night when graveyards yawn, 

And bosky shades prate daintily of dawn. 

It is the hour-’ ” 

“Ye’ve said that oncet,” roared out the jovial 
drunkard, far up the table. 






SWORDS OUT 


169 


“And once again. As the poet says again, 

Tt is the hour when doleful sprites must fly, 
Routed by day’s auroral pageantry. 

It is the hour-’ ” 

“There’s three hours already!” 

The unperturbed voice of the chairman pro¬ 
ceeded, 

“ 6 —when minions of the day 
Redeem the welkin from nocturnal sway, 

And make the daedal globe the bright abode 
Of day’s supernal and effulgent lord. 

It is the hour-’ ” 

He paused for the groan, which came, then he 
proceeded, “-when the noble Mohocks of Lon¬ 

don, alone awake in a world drowsy with night’s 
poppy-seed, are mured within the ramparts of their 
land of living dreams. It is the hour when we 
stand forth like what we are. Gentles all, put by 
your vizards of swart night, and show your 
quality!” 

Amid a roar of acclaim, to right and left the 
masks were ripped off. Folly alone, a bit pale, 
edged back against the wall, and made for the 
outer air. 

“Hey there,” an unsteady soldier barred her 
way, “off with your French cap, little one!” 

“Nay,” Pett, speaking as low as he dared, and 
still remain impressive, knocked aside the hand 
raised to demask her. “The lad is right—I vouch 
for him. It is his hour to depart.” 





170 


FOLLY 


“Judgment, judgment!” the half-drunken fel¬ 
low bellowed. “Here is one Mohock who dare not 
show his face!” 

“Be still, you zany-” began Pett. 

“Take off your mask, young fellow—then you 
may depart.” 

A group had swirled around the bicker. Folly 
stood facing them, on the alert, all unfrightened. 

“Not so,” insisted Pett. “The lad is a prince 
of the blood royal, and it is not seemly that he 
remove the covering. I vouch for him, I tell you 
—he was with us-” 

“Off with the mask!” 

“A cowardly prince, if prince he be, which I 
misdoubt,” mumbled the jovial drunken voice, who 
had somehow made his way back to where they 
stood. “I marked him—didn’t he give me the lie 
direct, about the ways of the tarantula? A false 
prince, and a false liar—I’ll make him-” 

Leaning across gracefully, Folly slapped her 
glove against the astonished mouth. “The lie is 
in your own throat,” she said sternly. “Gentles, 
adieu.” 

“Not till you give me satisfaction,” bellowed 
the aggrieved giant, sobering rapidly. “You’ll 
answer to my sword for your currish talk, my fine 
prince.” 

“It is a pity to soil my blade,” she spat out 
vehemently, “but, if needs be, I am ready.” 

“Oh, come—a few words-” 






SWORDS OUT 


171 


“This is impossible!” urged Pett excitedly. 

“The prince-” And, aside to the girl, “-he 

is a noted swordsman-” 

She answered him aloud, “Noted or not, I’ll 
prick him till his face look like his spotted fever.” 
She threw out of the side of her mouth to her pro¬ 
tector, “I can fence, I warn you-” 

Sighing resignedly, for he was one against all, 
Pett saw to it that the bulk of them were shooed 
away to the front of the tavern; and that only Folly, 
the loud-voiced Lancashireman, and two others 
were admitted to the court enclosed at the rear of 
the tavern. 

“I name my principal as Mr. X,” he said sav¬ 
agely. “Your quality, sir?” 

“Captain Raoul Pettibone, at your service— 
these are Viscount Crewe and Mr. Crabtree. If 

the youth apologize, of course-” 

A scornful laugh was his answer from the girl. 
“I shall not kill you, Captain—let the King’s ene¬ 
mies do that for me. But I shall leave a token on 

you, after the surgeon is done-” 

“Enough with words! My sword itches to get 
at the strutting cockerel.” 

The young nobleman accompanying the noisy 
captain looked in alarm at the proceedings. 

“You’re drunk, Raoul-” 

“I’m as sober as you are, Crewe.” 

“Exactly what I fear.” 

“I am as r-r-remote from intoxication,” began 









172 


FOLLY 


Mr. Crabtree, in that meticulous tone which Folly 
at once recognized as belonging to the man who 
had sat on her right, “as this tavern is from the 
Antip-tip-tipodes.” He brought it triumphantly 
out at last. “If the captain is no worse off than I 
am- 

“This shouldn’t go on,” urged Crewe obsti¬ 
nately. 

“Perhaps I should allow the doughty warrior 
a week, in which to deterge himself of the fumes 
of the ale,” said Folly, the hint of ridicule in her 
tone lost in the genuine concern she felt for her 
opponent’s state. 

Captain Pettibone crashed a heavy fist against 
a handy table, and held the floor against all comers. 
“You damned pock-souled sniff-higglers, can’t it 
penetrate your pachyderm mazards that I am as 
sober as the blasted sphinx in the dratted Sahara 
Desert? If you think a few scurvy cups of ale can 
put Raoul Pettibone under the table, you’re only 
glassing your squeamish inability to hold a man’s 
drink in a man’s way. I’m sober, damn you! 
I’ll take you all, one after another-” 

“Captain!” 

“Or all together, if you insist-” 

“Captain,” said Folly gently, “you are so 
wholly sober that I shall be careful not to let my 
point touch you for all the words in the world. 
Your seconds may rest content-” 

“And for my part,” grumbled the bellicose cap- 







SWORDS OUT 


173 


tain, “I’ll gladly spit you for your stinking fine 
manners and your blasted omniscience. On 
guard!” 

A solicitous second at each hand relieved the 
burly captain of his cloak; impatiently he shrugged 
them out of his way. The girl shook her head to 
Pett; she would fight as she was. 

With practiced wrist she threw her blade up for 
the elaborate salute. A moment later, she repented 
her courtesy; for the zealous captain made at her 
with a startling lunge, that bade fair to end the 
bout at once. Somehow she managed to parry, 
with a guard wholly unorthodox. She set herself 
at once to the business in hand. 

The slim blades clashed together, apart, together 
again, weaving a fugitive embroidery of gleaming 
reds and golds in the mellow light from the sconced 
torches, aided by the lightening gray overhead. 
Up and down the points wheeled together, darting 
in and out like rays of light thrown by two mirrors. 
The captain sought with brutal force to fight down 
his slighter opponent’s sword, and essay a finish¬ 
ing lunge. Folly, once she saw how the other 
neglected his guards, had to hold herself tightly 
to the double task of parrying the dangerous play, 
and yet refraining from a stroke that would really 
injure. 

The unexpected resistance sobered up the Lan- 
cashireman completely. He began to fight with 
calculated ferocity. Engagement and disengage- 


174 


FOLLY 


ment followed with bewildering rapidity, to the 
eyes of the onlookers. 

Gradually Folly found it wisdom to give ground, 
as the persisting vigor of the attack held without 
let-up. She knew now that her skill was the greater, 
but her strength far the less. Her best parries were 
ruthlessly clouted aside, as if she had been fenc¬ 
ing with a reed. She had been out of practice too 
long, she realized. Shrewd as ever to measure a 
situation, she began to fear that she might take a 
touch, for all of her skill. 

At the right moment, she bethought herself of 
a boasted secret stroke, said to be unanswerable. 
She did not trust too highly in it, with an opponent 
forewarned; but the captain might not know it. 
A spatter of engages and disengages, which drew 
his sword subtly out of the line of the intended 
stroke; then, with a quick flick of her wrist, she 
stooped almost to the ground, in an upward lunge 
that, unchecked, would mean death; and that, 
checked in the nick of time, would throw the fear 
of death into a less sober man than the captain. 

To her dismay, he met it with a deftness that 
argued full acquaintance with it, and came back 
with the only lunge that could grow from it. She 
saw the bright point snaking toward her breast, and 
felt in anticipation the sting, and then the horrid 
wrench, as the steel tore the flesh. 

She clenched her teeth to take it, her senses 
quickened for any possible escape. 


SWORDS OUT 


175 


The captain’s point suddenly stopped, froze a 
second before her astonished eyes, then wabbled 
away from her body, and wilted toward the ground. 
His body writhed in some peculiar contortion; his 
face showed a wry spasm of agony. 

“Pox take that ankle!” he swore aloud. “When 
nothing else can, it- O-oh!” 

Solicitously she let her blade droop. “Some 
other time-” she offered. 

“No; my honor is satisfied, Your Highness. 
You have a good wrist and a better head; I regret 
that, in my condition, I found it necessary to chal¬ 
lenge you.” 

“ ’Tis all one,” said Folly, pulses fluttering in 
relieved delight. “I regret that you misunder¬ 
stood my words, which merely added to your evi¬ 
dent wide knowledge of snakes and tarantulas and 
such small deer.” 

After a general cup of reconciliation, served by 
a tapster who had to be roused from his snores to 
yawn through his task, the five of them left the de¬ 
serted inn, and at the first corner Pett and the 
girl bade farewell to the others. 

“I regret this dreadfully,” Pett turned a wor¬ 
ried face upon her. “Here you’ve been gone all 
night, and by now the hue and cry may be all over 
London for you.” 

“Trust me for that,” she yawned adorably, 
snuggling a bit closer to him. “My maid, Han¬ 
nah, is a plain girl, but devoted. Unless the palace 




176 


FOLLY 


bums down, she will lie like a courtier that I 
am in bed with a fearsome headache, and am not 
to be disturbed for anything short of the last 
trump. I will enter, too, through her room.” 

“Nevertheless, it will be bright day in two hours; 
and if they have discovered your absence-” 

“My dear Colonel, I came of my own free will; 
I am of age, as a woman’s age goes. I beg you to 
be quiet on that theme.” 

He was still unsatisfied. “I fear me your repu¬ 
tation is gone for good, my dear girl. Perhaps 
you had best plan not to return to the palace at all, 
but to make a fresh start with some considerate 
friends-” 

Her laugh pealed out like matin chimes. “Now 
we begin to get at the root of the matter! How 
much better for your peace of body—must I say 
mind, good friend?—if I leave Westport, and fly 
for haven to the welcoming arms of my dear Pett! 
Nay, alas, it cannot-” 

“That was remote from my mind, adorable miss; 
although if you insist on sharing my humble board 
and bed-” 

“How prettily you lay the heavy burden on my 
soul! For this nonce, however, I shall return to 

my guardian’s ruffled wing; perhaps later-” 

A side glance from her eye inflamed his desire still 
further, and taught him shrewdness in encompass- 
ingit. 

“Be it so. And yet I fear that, slipping through 







SWORDS OUT 177 

the brightening streets in that attire, you may be 
molested-” 

He paused significantly, and she fell to study¬ 
ing her appearance. She made a good boy; but 
there was an appealing slimness that hinted of 
what was not boy. If she only had a cloak to cover 
her, as night had- 

“With a cloak-” 

He studied her judiciously. “That might do it. 
My lodging is on the way; I think I have just the 
thing.” 

She urged his flagging steps to hie their utmost, 
and even at that felt herself the object of curious 
scrutiny of more than one pair of eyes, before they 
turned into his quarters. Relieved at this tem¬ 
porary safety, she sprawled at ease on a great chest 
against the wall, while he rummaged around for 
the cloak. 

“May I offer you a breakfast of chocolate? I 
have all here-” 

Why not see the jaunt through, now that she was 
about it? She got herself up to aid him, and at 
his suggestion laid aside her belt and sword. She 
did not feel a bit sleepy, for all of the wild night 
just completed. It was pleasant, besides, to bask 
in the open flattery of his glance and his consid¬ 
eration. 

When they finished the leisurely meal, she rose 
reluctantly to depart. 

“Not yet.” His tone altered to a silky purring 






178 


FOLLY 


quality alien to it. “It really is not wise, adorable 
Mistress Folly. If you must return to Westport, 
let it be under the shade of this night’s darkness. 
Give this day to me!” 

“Merci, monsieur! But I go now-” 

Without warning she found her arms pinioned 
behind her back, and his mocking face above her. 
“I have earned one day with you,” he said huskily; 
his breath burned her cheek. “Is it not so, my 
glorious beauty?” Before she guessed his precipi¬ 
tate intention, his lips began to rummage upon her 
own. 

Desperately she swung herself toward the 
ground. Here she hung locked in his clasp, her 
strained arms sorely twisted. At least, the horrid 
lips were gone. 

“Let me go, you—you despicable-” 

“0 Mistress Fly-by-night, what inhospitality! 
Come, again-” 

Instead, she slung out her foot, until the heel 
caught sharply against his own, and tumbled him,, 
down to one knee. His smile hardened to some¬ 
thing grim: “So that’s your game! What is not 
given will be taken, my fine filly. Here-” 

He strained back to his feet, still holding her 
body locked by the clasp of her hands behind her 
back. Cracking her out from him as one cracks 
a whip, she felt her sudden momentum checked by 
the one hand he had held to; and saw his other 
arm clutching furiously for hers. With all the 






SWORDS OUT 


179 


force of her muscles she drove the loosed arm 
smack against his eyes, till he staggered at the 
blow. She snapped free the other arm, and, breast 
panting, poised a second facing him, free, for the 
moment at least. 

She saw his wild lunge before he made it, and 
tumbled the table, with its load of dishes, books, 
papers, and bric-a-brac, in his way. He swore in 
outraged anger, as he tried to catch the falling 
obstacle, merely making its ruin more complete. 
Two leaps backward, and her hands clawed from 
the wall what she had seen there. Then, her 
nerves singing joy at the combat, she faced him, a 
long, wide-hilted rapier of the old style presented 
against him. “Now come on, damn you, and see 
what a maid may do, when she must!” 

Ruefully he rubbed his smarting eyes. Then, 
overcome by the humor of the situation, he slumped 
back upon the chest, and laughed till the tears 
winked from the comers of his eyes. The sudden 
shock had broken the spell of his desire, as an 
immersion in ice-water might have done. 

Folly stared in amazement at the transmogrifi¬ 
cation, from a panic satyr to a mere man, over¬ 
come by his mirth. 

He managed to sputter out speech at last. 
“Damme if you’re not the most amazing maid I 
have ever encountered! Your pardon, Mistress 
Folly, if you can grant it—for my awkwardness, 
that it-” 



180 


FOLLY 


“It was inexcusable.” 

“-Perhaps the fumes of the ale—or of your 

own intoxicating beauty-” 

“You drank little enough of that,” she assured 
him straightly. “Will you stand aside, now, and 
speed me upon my way?” 

“Not for the Milky Way would I do otherwise. 
I am wholly vanquished, Hippolyte. I grovel 
under your heel! Here is the cloak-” 

“My sword?” she snapped out, still unmollified. 

“In the entrance-way,” in humble amusement. 

Holding the horrendous ancient weapon still 
toward him, she skirted the wall until she was 
ensconced in the door, the cloak over her arm, her 
own sword in reach. “Good day, Colonel,” she 
bowed prettily. 

“Good day, you madcap princess-” 

“And may I say that I am not wholly glad-” 

she paused for the full effect to sink in, and con¬ 
tinued slowly, “-that my body was so strong?” 

The sight of his mated face, as she said this, 
was reward enough for her. With a tantalizing 
smile, she vanished through the doorway. 

At least, she assured herself jubilantly, as she 
walked with sober speed toward the palace, there 
was one man in London who would come at her 
call. 








CHAPTER XI 

A Blunt Word Out of Season 

It was barely turned eight, when the girl 
knocked softly at the outer door of the room where 
the maid Hannah slept. There was great relief on 
the servant’s face, when she saw her mistress safe 
at home at last. 

“I hardly slept a wink,” she marvelled aloud, 
“fearful that some mischance had overtaken your 
person.” 

Folly’s quiet laugh rang merrily. “Not me. 
But tell me—was I called for?” 

“Only in the early evening. His Lordship bade 
me call you. Oh, but I lied valiantly, saying you 
were ill of the megrims. He grumbled a bit, but 
that was all.” 

“And not again?” 

The servant’s face wore a sly grin. “Not a 
peep about you; and, from the state in which he 
must have come in-” 

“Do tell me!” 

“I know little, madam; but I was still up, an 
ear to the keyhole, when he returned some time 
near midnight. What a terrible stew he was in! 

181 



182 


FOLLY 


His Lordship is an accomplished swearer, but he 
positively outdid himself! What with damning 
everything in the universe twice over, and more—” 

“But what was it all about?” 

“That I know not; but he was in a towering wrath 
about something, be sure of it. He had her Lady¬ 
ship up, and- Oh, lud, they’re knocking on 

madam’s door now! Let me answer it-” 

Together the two of them tiptoed to Folly’s 
room. The girl slipped off her shoes and hid her¬ 
self beneath the covers; the maid, a lugubrious 
look on her face, answered the summons. The 
words were all low; after a pause, Folly heard the 
door closed, and at once sat up. Here was Hannah 
back again, eyes dancing. 

“I told him—it was young Master Maynard, 
come at his Lordship’s word to call you—that you 
were but barely rousing. You are called for in 
the dining room.” 

“Tire me quickly, Hannah—I must see his face 
—after last night!” 

It was a decorous and subdued Folly that pre¬ 
sented herself, less than half an hour later, to the 
assembled Westports. The master of the house 
looked pale, she noted at first glance; otherwise, 
he seemed unchanged by his evening’s misadven¬ 
ture. Folly, for all her fresh patch and liberal 
paint, felt that her tired face must publish her lack 
of sleep. 

“I am sorry, Mistress Folly, that you were indis- 




A BLUNT WORD OUT OF SEASON 183 


posed last evening,” said the duke quietly. “I 
had news for you. Today our Admiral is to be 
received at court; and I have high hopes that, if 
all goes well, you may follow soon.” 

She felt herself spitted by something unspoken 
in his tone. “That’s high good fortune for 
Chris!” 

Westport made a queer grunting sound, shaking 
his head. “That’s as we shall see. If he plays his 
hand well,” the suave tone purred meaningly, “it 
promises higher, as I have told him. The First 
Lord of the Admiralty is to have audience upon 
the state of the navy, and Chris goes beside, with 
my own word to His Majesty to commend him.” 

“He’ll be Admiral yet!” 

“That’s as we shall see,” he repeated gravely. 
“Chris has a stubborn humor, such as courts are 
strange to. I have urged him to bridle his tongue 
—out of the love I bear you, Chris-” 

“Yes,” the younger man shook his head, a 
somber light in his eyes. “I shall have no chance 
to speak, amid such great folks as my Lord of the 
Admiralty. If I were asked my opinion-” 

“Which pray God you won’t be, as long as you’re 
in that mulish humor. At least, lad, be tactful.” 

“I shall do my best. Things were bad enough 
with the ships under Prince George; when he died, 
and this scanting commission took over the 
power-” 

“Of course, of course,” the elder man humored 





184 


FOLLY 


him. “It’s your manner I speak of. Tact is the 
half of diplomacy, do not forget-” 

“And we come in—the navy comes in—when 
diplomacy has failed; we are never needed while 
then. Ordnance are singularly lacking in diplo¬ 
macy and tact, as the Dutchman showed us.” 

“I give him up, Folly. Heaven pray he muzzle 
his tongue, as well as he may! I give him his 
chance—that is all man can do. We are expected 
betimes, Chris; you had best make yourself 
ready-” 

A similar excuse sent out his wife. Always 
these subterfuges, thought Folly in irritation, to 
get in an edgewise word with her. Could it be 
that the influence of the promise to the Mohocks 
had worn off thus soon? She put the best face she 
could on the matter. “And I follow soon, Stephen 
—with the King?” 

“If all goes well-” 

“Good!” 

“-With my hopes,” he ended in soft mock¬ 

ery. 

“Would you keep me from the king, till I waste 
into spinsterhood? I must see him, Stephen— 
for Will’s sake-” 

“The hour is for you to say.” 

The arrival of Chris put an end to the unsatis¬ 
factory interchange. Folly, making her excuses 
to the Countess, retired at last to her room, for the 
long postponed rest. 







A BLUNT WORD OUT OF SEASON 185 


Clear up to dusk she slept, and was only roused 
by Hannah’s timid call. The maid’s face was a trifle 
scared; and Folly could make out nothing clearly 
from her, except that there was trouble somehow 
in the household. But the successful termination 
of her own adventure, and the marvellous balm of 
sleep, made her as light-hearted as a lark at sunup. 
She could hardly order her steps to decorum; they 
twitched into little tripping runs and quirks, for all 
her intentions of sobriety. 

One glance at the three faces of those assembled 
for dinner, and she knew at once that something 
had gone seriously amiss. Chris, to whom she 
looked first, met her look with a hopeless stare, and, 
stopping a sigh that almost came forth, dropped his 
gaze to the table. The Countess wore alarm on 
her face; Westport looked more cynically devilish 
than usual. 

The girl, wits racing, found her seat, and essayed 
at once to lessen the tension. “Did you enjoy 
meeting His Majesty, Chris?” 

There was awed silence for a ghastly moment. 
Chris, a startled look at his patron, started to 
speak: “Why, I-” 

“Oh, he enjoyed it,” a torrent from the head 
of the table. “He cooked his goose till the black¬ 
ened flesh charred on the bones; and singed my 
own, I fear.” 

“Why, I am sure Folly-” The Countess 

hesitated. 




186 


FOLLY 


“I’d just as well out with it; Folly will learn it 
from you or someone, soon enough,” said Chris, 
holding his voice level with difficulty. “My Uncle 
Westport is aggrieved, because I spoke out, when 
speaking out was necessary.” 

“Is it nothing to you,” broke in Westport 
shortly, “to have a chance a thousand young fel¬ 
lows in the navy would give an arm to obtain, and 
to throw it away as flatly as if it were rubbish, or 
worse? Oh, it was a scene that would have stirred 
your mettlesome heart, Folly! They were all there 
—the whole commission, admirals and captains of 
the fleet, lords and diplomats—and Admiral 
Christopher Maynard, chafing his young heart 
out-” 

“My Lord!” 

“The First Lord had just completed an elegant 
exposition of the state of the navy-” 

“With less truth in it than London has snow in 
July,” said the youth savagely. 

“And when has truth dwelt under the roof of 
diplomacy?” Westport paused a minute to let 
these words sink in. “His words satisfied the 
King, the rest of the commission, the men of the 
fleet-” 

“Sir, as one of them, let me tell you that they 
writhe at the state of the ships, and the lying 
tongues-” 

“Well, grant that some of them are churlish and 
unreasonable, if you will have it so. At the fit 






A BLUNT WORD OUT OF SEASON 187 


time such matters could have been taken up with 
the First Lord-” 

“Who has a private finger in every naval pie, 
and lines his own pockets-” 

“But you’re living in a world of men, Chris, not 
of angels! You but indict him for his human¬ 
ness. Then this lord and that, called on, spoke as 
elegantly of the situation—all translated to the 
Dutch pig, who could only grunt out ‘Neins’ and 
‘Jahs’ like a great gross tun of schnapps-” 

“Stephen!” 

His wife’s protest was vain. “-When what 

did His Majesty do, after cracking a lewd joke or 
two with those two hideous molls in his train, than 
signify that he would like to hear from my nephew. 
Up jumps Chris, wild to spike the wheel—to break 
things generally-” 

“Uncle, I have the welfare of England at heart. 
England will thank me-” 

“Was Cassandra stoned? I forget,” said West- 
port cynically. 

Chris shook the interruption away. “I spoke 
whereof I knew, and no more. Mr. Pepys did no 
less, a score and a half years ago; and things are 
no better today.” He swung in sudden appeal 
toward the girl. “Even our new ships, Folly, are 
built of such rotted timbers that they have not gone 
out of port—and could not stand a se’nnight of real 
water. They are like, rotted as they are, to sink 
at moorings!” Eyes flashing, he faced the earl 








188 


FOLLY 


again. “If these rotted hulks crumbled under the 
gunfire of an alien foe, you would be the last man 
to thank me for ignobly holding my peace, when 
the chance to speak came!” 

“Damme, Chris, I know you had the truth on 
your side; but I tell you this court of England, and 
indeed no court, is the place for truth. We live in 
a world of lies, polite, elegant lies; and the sooner 
you fit yourself for the world you live in, the bet¬ 
ter for you—and those near you.” 

The two men glowered at one another. Folly, 
still partly in the dark, asked timidly, “But just 
what was the lad’s offense, uncle?” 

“Ugh! The King would have the young Ad¬ 
miral’s word; and he had an earful, I venture!” 

“ ‘As a practical man of the fleet,’ they asked 


“But the last thing they wanted was truth: men 
are crucified for telling it, I tell you. Well, out it 
came spilling—lack of this and that, no powder, 
guns out of date, none of the ships seaworthy, no 
repairs worthy the name since Utrecht—out it 
tumbled, all the whole filthy, truthful mess. Even 
then it would have been all right—the First Lord 
was translating it to His Majesty.” 

“God in Heaven,” groaned Chris savagely. 

“-And I, who speak a little of the barbarous 

jargon, can tell you that what he translated differed 
in no whit from his own flowery speech. And then 
that damned James Stanhope, with all the suave 




A BLUNT WORD OUT OF SEASON 189 


foulness he learned from his father Chesterfield, 
insinuated a polite correction, politely drowned 
out the voice of the First Lord, and gave the whole 
malodorous mess to the royal ear.” 

“He made a yeoman’s job of it,” said Chris, 
with defeated pride. “I understand the language 
myself, remember.” 

“Yeoman’s job— My dear girl, he had the 
King’s eyes popping out of his head, and ‘Is it so?’ 
Ts it true?’ Ts it possible?’ till the astonished 
Dutchman’s voice grew hoarse from very wonder. 
Then Chris ended; and the First Lord, with all his 
diabolic skill—he hates Stanhope as much as Stan¬ 
hope hates him—took it up point by point, granted 
that things had been so a few years back, and lied 
out of the whole cloth—swearing that each and 
every one of the complaints had been remedied; 
only, the young lieutenant had not kept informed 
of the recent state of the fleets. One by one the 
others corroborated what he said; and Stanhope— 
I am never sure whether it was merely jealousy of 
my power, hatred of the First Lord, or a mere de¬ 
sire to stir up contention—let the thing die down, 
with Chris disgraced, and nothing else accom¬ 
plished.” 

“Well, if it’s over-” Folly paused expect¬ 

antly. 

“He’ll be over, soon enough,” said Westport 
sardonically. “One of the commission pocketed 
me immediately afterward, expressing polite re- 



190 


FOLLY 


grets that my nephew was so tactlessly zealous; and 
let me know that he would have the chance to cool 
his heels in the Carolinas, instead of the preferment 
I had asked for him. Not a captain now, but a 
discredited lieutenant, banished to the fringes of 
hell.” 

“Then you’re to be shipped to America?” Folly 
asked it evenly, while her mind worked furiously. 

“Such is my next assignment.” He looked 
proudly at Westport, and said no more. 

“Well,” said Folly, her tones frivolling like a 
hum-bird’s flight, “I cannot see that the First Lord 
could have done anything else. Will’s there; you 
may be able to help him,” she spoke strangely to 
Chris, then turned again to the earl. “You had 
warned Chris, hadn’t you, uncle?” 

The elder man flushed proudly. “That I had; 
and the ungrateful pup paid no heed to words of 
mine, but blundered smack into this filthy mess.” 

Chris’s face was tense. “You think I should not 
have spoken, Folly?” 

“There is a time and a place for everything, my 
impetuous cousin.” Her face was a queer study. 

“By Gad, I wish the boy had half your head on 
his shoulders!” Westport exuded approval. 

“Perhaps he would not be satisfied with the 
half,” she smiled over her inner panic. 

This repartee relieved the tension a little; the 
subject was dropped for the rest of the cheerless 
meal. 


A BLUNT WORD OUT OF SEASON 191 


At the end, Chris rose heavily, and stalked out. 
Folly, making her excuses, sauntered out a little 
later. Her steps did not quicken, until she was 
out of sound of the dining hall. 

He was not in the halls, nor the portrait gallery; 
he was not in the library. All at once, she knew 
where she would find him. She fled down the long 
North Wing, and up the curved stairs to the great 
fretted door above. Here she paused to recover 
her breath: then, her heart still trembling, she 
pulled the door inward, and passed out. 

There he sat, staring moodily off at the horizon. 
The twisted pillars and ornaments seemed menac¬ 
ing, repulsive; the air was as chilly as a cavern in 
bleak hills. Nor was there beauty in the western 
sky; only a leaden murk, repellent and hideous. 

“Chris-” 

No word of welcome came; she had earned none. 
She slipped over beside him, and slid down upon 
the floor at his feet. His hand lay listlessly upon 
his knee; tenderly she took it in her own. He 
looked at her once, in dumb pain, and let it lie 
there, dead and unresponsive. 

“Chris-” 

Still no answer from the brooding figure; nor 
would his eyes turn to hers. 

“My dear Christopher Maynard, admiral of the 
navies of the faerie queen beyond the sunset-” 

“When I spoke to the King,” his voice was low, 
as if each word was wrenched out of inner agony, 





192 


FOLLY 


“I felt your approbation of every syllable. I was 
abused, my lady, and there is an end on’t. Soon 
enough I will cease to trouble your corner of the 
earth with my undesired presence.” 

Tears came to her eyes; she could not forbid 
them. “You poor, dear zany, what would you 
have? If I had sided with you—as I ached to do 
—it would not have aided you, in your extremity; 
and it would have exiled me from my uncle’s 
favor.” 

“But—why would not that-” 

“In which case,” she uttered each word as if 
weighed on a chemist’s balance, “my chance of 
meeting his Dutch obtusity would have gone away 
flittering like a banshee at sunup, and I could not 
—I could not-” 

“Yes?” He was all goggle-eyed with wonder at 
the strange light in her eyes. 

“-1 could not have had the inestimable 

privilege of telling him what I think of you, and of 
his own sky-wide stupidity? I have my own cause 
to hate his navy, which has not weighed anchor 
after Will; and now, added to this, yours. Oh, 
Chris, if I only get the chance, I will put a bee 
in his ear which will sting long after I leave 
him!” 

“You mean that you really- That what I 

said-” 

“What else could you have said but the truth, 
Chris? Let the old—these damned old wreckers 







A BLUNT WORD OUT OF SEASON 193 


of the world we live in—the old and decrepit men¬ 
tally, physically, morally, spiritually—these who 
have made a stinking shambles of the world, and 
fatten like white deer on its decaying corpse— 
let them prate their venomous lies, for they can 
do no other. But the young—you, in all your 
blind and ferocious honesty, I, in my devil-be- 
damned audacity—we young will one day wrest the 
world from the old and decrepit, and make the 
world anew! We will make a world where young 
hearts can live, as two once lived, before the ser¬ 
pent of tact beguiled them to exchange Paradise 
for the apple of wealth and fame: Eden, for the 
cesspool of London!” 

“Then you really mean that you will-” 

“I may not be banished to America; but oh, 
Chris, I care for you now as I never dared admit 
to myself I cared before. Not love, no—that I 
am sure of: but I admire you—you alone of all I 

know in England- No,” she laughed gaily, 

“there is something still to be said for Bloody 
Wynne, a man above the grime of cities; and for 
a few others I might name. But you were splen¬ 
did, Chris-” 

“And—if not now- May I still hope, 

Folly-?” 

“If it will aid you, God’s mercy, let your hope 
grow vast as a mountain range!” 

He stared away from her, suddenly thoughtful 
again. “Yet I am not sure that you should do 







194 


FOLLY 


aught- Can I have a woman fight my battles 

for me?” 

“My dear Chris, it is my battle I fight. A maid 
today-” 

His head sank lower. “And I am to sail in 
three days.” 

“What are three days, or three years, to us, 
who are young, Chris?” 

“What is the hatred of all the world, if I know 
that you are beside me?” 

“Yet I had tact,” she rallied gently. “I did not 
side with you then-” 

“There is a place even for tact,” he granted 
painfully. “Not in my speaking, no; but you have 
the quick wit I lack, girl-” 

“The sun glitters more on a tiny pool wind- 
rippled, than on a great still sea, do not forget.” 

“I will not forget this night,” he said humbly. 

The sky to the west did not alter; but to the two 
on the high tower its sullen murk was a soft cloud, 
veiling a holy of holies. 

There were few more words. The very silence 
sang. 

She went down alone, sure that Westport would 
be waiting for her. Chris, at her request, left by 
another way. She knew that the younger man was 
blind to Westport’s fatuous admiration, and was 
sure that no good turn would be served by open¬ 
ing his eyes to this noble game, that their great 
protector was playing so gainlessly. 






A BLUNT WORD OUT OF SEASON 195 


“Aha! I wondered when you would come,” he 
teased her possessively, drawing her as usual 
toward the dusk of the farther library. 

“You will spare me, good uncle—since last 
night, my head has been ringing-” 

“You are a maid of heart’s mettle, for all that. 
And, my dear,” he beamed out his largesse, “I 
have changed my mind. We are not at cross-pur- 
poses, that I am sure of. You know what I seek, 
and you will not always cross me. Once granting 
this-” 

At his pause, she said with surface significance, 
“There is something in what you say, Stephen.” 

“Good! This day three days, then, if I may 
have the honor of presenting you to my sov¬ 
ereign-” 

She curtsied almost to the floor. “I overflow 
with gratitude, dear uncle.” 

He edged toward her. “And now-” 

“And now—you will pardon me, I know. My 
fondest adieu to Your Lordship, Stephen—my 
dear!” 

His eyes expanded in pleased pride. “Good 
night, you sly little devil!” 






CHAPTER XII 
The Ear of the King 

After all, Folly reminded herself, how could 
she be sure that she loved Chris Maynard? She 
had known him briefly enough, Heaven knows: 
more than that, she had had little chance of know¬ 
ing other men—well, that is. Of course, she had 
had an eyeful of the best that London had to 
afford; and sorry enough fare all of it was/ Who 
would she take of all those she had met—if they 
were free, that is: her amorous uncle, or quiver¬ 
ing, sensitive Innis, or sardonic Stanhope? One 
of the Mohock blood-spillers, perhaps? No, there 
was nothing fine, nothing high-aimed in all of them. 
Except for Chris Maynard, that is. 

Oh, but what a downfall he was, from the man 
of her dreams! She had always seen this vision 
come riding into her fantasies, with a great, stern 
face like Richard of the Lion’s Heart, or mighty 
Roland, or the knight of the lake. He would be a 
prince, at least; a king, or an emperor maybe, a 
knight whose name alone caused armies to tremble; 
yet gentle as soft wind in her presence. What a 
drop from this, to a mere lieutenant in the Han¬ 
overian’s navy! She must wait; surely the future 
196 


THE EAR OF THE KING 


197 


would bring her the knight of her dreamings. 
Plain, straightforward Chris Maynard could not 
be the one. 

Yet she had begun to know kings and princes 
close. The kingship she dreamed was a flower of 
inward growth, after all. 

Yet—a mere plain-spoken lieutenant! 

Why then, she veered suddenly, did she labor 
so desperately to prove to herself that he was not 
the one? Why did her mind recur again and again 
to him, one unbending thing to cling to, in a world 
of slack virtue and sleazy morals? 

She put him out of mind, as well as she could, 
and bent all her energies to preparing for the pres¬ 
entation at court. She had another charge on her 
soul, her brother’s state: that must come first, in 
any event. With Lady Westport’s ample expe¬ 
rience to guide her, she could not go far wrong; it 
was merely the problem of looking so ravishing, 
that she could get her full will of the King. Her 
lips locked suddenly: that will, once vague, was 
almost definite now—a desire to be banished to the 
end of the earth, if need be, with Chris Maynard. 

As for Will- But it was of Chris she thought 

most. 

To be plain Mistress Lieutenant Maynard, 
perdie! Always seated below the wife of a cap¬ 
tain, or the humblest lordling! No, that lot was 
not for Folly Leigh- 

She put him out of her mind, again and again; 




198 


FOLLY 


and, like her shadow, again and again she noticed 
him back at his old niche. She turned with hectic 
gaiety to preparing for the ceremony. The very 
day she was to be presented, the hour even, Chris 
was to sail. There he came smack into her thought 
again, she mused ruefully. Well, she would make 
it a memorable hour! 

It was the great Westport coach of honor this 
time, with Mistress Folly beauty’s self, if we are 
to credit the sober chronicles of gentlemen about 
the court. The journey to the palace was without 
incident. But just as she followed her guardians 
within the great reception hall, she heard her name 
called in a low, joyful whisper: “Folly! Thee 
here?” 

“Prudence Scattergood, by all the smells of 
Bristol! What brings thee to the King’s wicked 
town?” 

The Quaker girl raised her eyes in rapt piety 
toward heaven. “The inner light, Folly. It has 
brought me hither, to expostulate with His Majesty, 
against all the evils of his ways.” 

A stern look from Westport caused Folly to 
hurry on, with a hasty promise to meet the girl 
afterwards. Folly was conducted into the audience 
hall, and found herself in a huddle of other well- 
dressed suppliants for the royal smile and grace. 

To her amazement, the Quaker, in spite of the 
outward pomp of the ceremonies, was led up ahead 
of all of them. And then His Majesty entered, fol- 


THE EAR OF THE KING 


199 


lowed by a clutter of courtiers and gentlemen in 
waiting, among whom Folly at once recognized 
the two dowdy women who received the royal 
favors so flagrantly. They were even homelier 
than she had imagined; if that was what a king 
selected, from among all the women in the world! 
What must his wife look like—the poor jailed lady 
who had looked too steadily on Count Konigsmark! 

Stanhope, who stood beside the throne, gave 
Folly a low bow. She thrilled at this recognition 
so close to the royal person, for all her distaste 
at the royal choice. Then, ignoring the elegance 
among which she stood, the nobleman beckoned 
to Prudence Scattergood. Face alarmed, yet rapt, 
she came forward simply, stretching out a paper 
toward the royal hand. George the King gazed at 
her so intently that he hiccupped. A leer came 
over his face, as he addressed a remark in German 
to a slender youth standing just at his side. 

“0 King, thee must read this, and repent,” Pru¬ 
dence told him simply, extending her petition 
urgently at him. 

Stanhope took it from her, and presented it to 
the monarch with an obeisance at least half mock¬ 
ery. He explained rapidly what the girl wanted. 
The King grunted out some amused response in 
bastard speech, which Stanhope sharpened and 
embroidered, in answering the girl. “His Majesty 
begs that you make his enemies quake, not him and 
his friends.” 


200 


FOLLY 


“But, O King, God will make thee quake soon 

enough. God will-” 

After another interchange, Stanhope smiled 
back the royal answer. His Majesty, he said, was 
honored to meet one who had the ear of the 
Deity, and trusted that the quaking would not un¬ 
settle the stomach. 

“0 King, thee knows-” 

“Peace, maiden. The King has thy petition, and 
will consider it at his leisure.” 

“Will thee repent of thy evil ways, 0 King, 
and dismiss these whores and whoremongers with 

whom thee are surrounded, and lead a life-” 

“Peace, peace, child! Go in peace, His Maj¬ 
esty says,” Stanhope dismissed her more sharply. 

“The voice of the Lord, 0 King!” she cried out 
dramatically, and clapped her hands with pretty 
decisiveness. There was a stir without the door, 
and a strange sight appeared in the entrance to the 
audience chamber: Isaac Scattergood, got up to 
represent the voice of the Lord. 

The maids of honor screamed in feminine in¬ 
delicacy, then giggled; the men roared aloud. 
For the man was naked, except for a brief hodden 
loin-cloth. In his hands he bore gravely a chafing- 
dish, containing burning fire and brimstone. 

“May all men have legs like that!” exploded a 
maid near the throne, above the disorderly whis¬ 
pers and snickers. 

There was an utter seriousness about the man’s 





THE EAR OF THE KING 


201 


face that was, in these surroundings, quite side¬ 
splitting to most of his beholders. 

“Repent! Repent!” he called out, in his loud¬ 
est voice. “The day of the Lord is at hand! Re¬ 
pent, and be saved, or be damned to the pit of 
everlasting fire and brimstone! Repent! Repent!” 

Out of the hilarious confusion the King asked 
to have the man set before him. Scattergood, once 
in this coign of vantage, began to inveigh vehe¬ 
mently against the wickedness of courts. The very 
hairs on his massive chest wiggled in condemna¬ 
tion of royal wickedness. 

“The cook should eat his own broth,” urged an 
assertive toady. 

“Repent! Repent! The day of the Lord-” 

Tiring of the sport, the King gave an order. One 
of the courtiers came forward, dropping a silver 
shilling into the smoking chafing-dish. “An ele¬ 
gant performance, says His Majesty. He hopes to 
see it repeated at your regular theater.” 

There were fresh outbreaks of mirth at this sally. 
Deeming that he had done his full duty, the 
Quaker marched stiffly out, intoning, “Repent! 
Repent! The day of the Lord is at hand!” as long 
as his voice could be heard from within. 

So this was the caliber of courts! Folly did not 
know which to detest most—the blind zeal of the 
poor daft fanatic, or the nasty sneers of the court 
at the man’s sincerity. 

One by one those who had been summoned were 



202 


FOLLY 


presented to the King; until Folly’s time came near. 
Her hands went cold at what she had in mind; hut 
she did not falter. She had noticed the royal eye 
more than once straying and lingering upon her; 
and, indeed, that was small wonder. There were 
women, mature and young, in the gathering who 
would have set off any other group; but, in Folly’s 
presence, they were stars bled to invisibility by the 
sun. 

The King’s hiccupping had grown more, rather 
than less. He had started the levee with an assump¬ 
tion of something remotely resembling the kingly; 
but, as the session dragged on, he slumped back 
into his unartificial face, which was stained and 
fouled with the inexpungeable records of night 
after night of drunkenness, with the two drab 
sharers of his bed and leisure who now hovered 
uneasily behind him. 

One of the creatures—the one in the deep crim¬ 
son brocade, with the ridiculous stomacher of dia¬ 
monds and rubies—cleared her throat and spat 
noisily. When this did not seduce George’s eye 
from his business at hand, she slipped up behind 
him, and stuck a familiar hand upon his shoulders, 
whispering in his ear some unheard word, that 
evoked a rude, unabashed guffaw from the 
monarch. 

His greeting was more perfunctory now, he 
seemed about to rise brusquely, and wash his paws 
of the whole court ceremonial. The English lords 


THE EAR OF THE KING 


203 


who mothered the ungainly royal chick clucked en¬ 
couragement to him; their tongues tripped over 
each other’s, in the clicking speed of their formal 
speech. 

Stanhope himself stepped nearer, to sponsor 
Westport’s introduction of the girl. At a cour¬ 
teous wafture from him, she swayed elegantly for¬ 
ward, tensely conscious that the monarch had quick¬ 
ened into interest at the mere sight of her approach. 

She made her obeisance in the accepted way, 
and heard a guttural grunt of approval from the 
royal wastrel. “Ach! Wie wunderschon /” 

Rising to her height, she placed a familiar foot 
upon the lowest step of the dais. “Here,” she 
ordered peremptorily to the temporary queen with 
the diamond and ruby stomacher, “hold this for 

me-” extending her magnificent fan, as one 

would hand it to a servant. 

The woman’s eyes flashed; she drew back. 

Folly’s tone crispened to a verbal lash. “Take 
it, I say!” 

The startled woman, used to commands from 
the royal lips, did as she was bid. A moment later, 
her face furious with anger, she let it fall—not 
noisily, but half compromising her irritation, since 
she was not yet sure of the royal mind. George’s 
eyes twinkled into interest. 

“What manners your German pigs have!” the 
girl exclaimed magnificently, disregarding the 
fallen gaud. 



204 


FOLLY 


“I get it;” the King’s voice broke in a sudden 
intake of breath. He reached for it, felt himself 
unsure on his throne, and swayed back into place, 
holding on to his throne and his dignity with both 
hands. “Have it up-gepicked, und schnell!” 

“It is a pleasure,” Folly’s tone sliced on, “to 
meet the boor who exiled my cousin, Lieutenant 
Maynard of the navy, for his truth-telling.” She 
beamed a dazzling smile upon the fuddled King. 
There was a gasp of alarm from Westport and a 
dozen others who sensed the situation. 

The King’s eyes widened with pleasure; he 
asked vehemently what the schones madchen had 
said. A courtier started to soften the message; an 
insidious voice, of Stanhope again, gave the words 
their full force. 

The King threw back his head and roared aloud 
his gross delight. “Splendid! Magnificent! A 
filly of spirit!” 

Folly did not wait for the translation; she 
sensed the attitude. Her tones bit and stung: 
“Send off a few more like him, and you will rule 
an island peopled by idiots like yourself.” 

There was no one to pass this brutal message; 
but George, his face screwed up into an attempt 
at thought, caught the one word, and repeated it 
like a crow of triumph. “Idiot! Idiot!” He 
went on to shout violently that the rest were all 
idiots, except this girl and himself. A real woman! 
A-of spirit! 



THE EAR OF THE KING 205 

A catty maid relayed to the girl, in a hushed 
sneer, the royal compliment. 

“If you had spirit,” she berated the King, 
carried away by her own fervor, “you could not 
bouse like a beer-hound, and soil our throne with 
mistresses as homely as your own swollen face. 
You are supreme, Your Royal Highness,” she 
made a low, derisive curtsey, “in your execrable 
taste and your execrable person.” 

“Folly!” gasped her protector warningly. 

The King rose to his feet, lurching a trifle, and 
steadying himself on the shrinking shoulders of 
Westport, who had forced himself near to choke 
off the girl somehow. The King spluttered ahead: 
a marvellous maiden! She would do credit to a 

king’s bed any night! He’d never seen a - 

of such spirit, damned if he had! He turned an 
aggrieved face upon his courtiers; why didn’t they 
depart, and leave him to talk to this sparkling 
filly? 

“So dreadful is the state of your kingdom,” 
Folly persisted more intimately, retreating a step 
to avoid the swaying royal paw that lurched out 
toward her, “that my brother was taken by crimps 
in Your Majesty’s seaport of Bristol—by crimps 
protected by royal officers and city watchmen. 
Your navy rots in inaction, instead of pursuing 
the villain who did the deed, and who now roams 
the high seas under the black flag: instead of pur¬ 
suing him, sailing down the evil vessel that holds 



206 


FOLLY 


him captive, restoring him to his family, and hang¬ 
ing mast high the devil that did this!” She paused 
for breath, but was ahead of the others again. 
“The one man who dared tell you the truth, in 
your whole kingdom, you have banished to 
America. Well, my royal mountebank, banish me 

too, and make a clean sweep of it. No-” she 

hissed away his reaching clasp, “-still keep 

your filthy fingers away-” 

With all his urbanity, Stanhope interfered, 
shooed back the swaying sovereign, and brought 
the levee to a close. 

Folly, breasts storming, followed her speech¬ 
less protector out of the palace. A thunder-cloud 
would have been a baby’s smile, compared to the 
lower of his brows. 

Stanhope, his face marvellously working, fol¬ 
lowed them down to the Westport coach. 

“The damned little fool,” groaned Westport 
aloud. “Disgraced by my nephew and this light¬ 
headed chit—all in one week, James!” 

“Shrewd vixen,” said the great minister admir¬ 
ingly. “Do you know what the Hanoverian is 
spilling over the throne-room? He’ll have the 
girl for his mistress, he swears, if he has to throttle 
the whole court!” 

“You have won your point,” said Westport bit¬ 
terly to the girl. “When will you take up your 
residence in the royal harem?” 

“When you are born twin girls,” she taunted 





THE EAR OF THE KING 


207 


icily. “Mistress to that Dutch swine? How you 
honor me—as you have honored England, by rais¬ 
ing such a drunken carcass to receive your cour¬ 
tesies and your obeisances! I’d stab the royal 
whoremonger, before I’d lie with him!” 

“Hoity-toity!” marvelled Stanhope again. 
“There is a deal of spirit in your family, Stephen, 
damme if there isn’t. If you or I had that 
much-” 

“Then you’d best get out of England, before 
the cock crows again; or you may have to,” in a 
despondent tone from the earl. 

“Nothing would please me better,” she said 
angrily. “Chris Maynard sailed at the hour I was 
led to kiss the pudgy swine’s paw; Will is some¬ 
where against the wall in the Americas; the foul 
Blackbeard sails the seas unmolested; what has 
Folly Leigh to do here, with so much undone 
abroad? Let me go, and quickly!” Her breasts 
worked beyond her control. 

“She will have to go.” Stanhope came abruptly 
down to earth, and turned to Westport. “Or you 
must mure her out of sight and hearing for months, 

and swear to the King that she is gone- I had 

a private word from the Frau you know, who said 
to lose the girl, or she’d wring her neck. What’ll 
you do with her, Stephen?” 

“How in the fiend’s sweet name do I know? 
Beauty in anger—for the slut is lovely, damn 
her- What can I do with her? And that pig 





208 


FOLLY 


rutting after her- I’ll have to take her to 

the Colonies myself, I suppose.” 

Stanhope bowed gravely, a twinkle in his eye. 
“Did you not tell me once that the Countess, for 
her health’s sake, needed a voyage upon England’s 
wet ramparts?” 

Westport stared at him with brightening friend¬ 
ship. “So I did, so I did. Hmm- The 

Countess gone, Folly gone—and you and I, 
James-” 

“Precisely. No more volcanoes. Besides, she’s 
too dangerous to have roaming around loose,” he 
spoke intimately, ignoring the girl’s near ears. 
“Either with the King, or someone, she’d stir up 
hell upon hell, till she got wed; and God pity her 
husband, unless his wedding bed is padlocked 
from every hot male in the kingdom!” 

“Yes. She’s too damned good-looking to have 
around, and that’s clear. You’ve rendered me a 
favor, James; you show the way. My heart’s 
thanks to you.” 

“I feared you and I might have to fight over her, 
Stephen-” 

Westport chuckled grimly. “She goes, and 
presently.” 

“While later, then.” 

“Drive home,” Westport ordered curtly. 

The great lord softened toward the girl from 
then on. He spoke to her gently; perhaps she had 
done little harm, with that fool on the throne. He 






THE EAR OF THE KING 


209 


had no mind but for women and stinking foreign 
brews; she had pricked him in the right spot, after 
all. She wanted to go to the Americas; well, it 
was not such a child’s wish, after all. The Coun¬ 
tess needed the sea air for her health; he would 
commend the girl to his dear friend, Governor 
Eden of the Carolinas, a courtly gentleman beyond 
the seas. There was a ship sailing within the 
week; she would understand that in the meantime 
she would not be flaunted around palace or court. 

She bowed gratefully. 

Once in the Colonies, she could search to her 
heart’s content for her brother, and doubtless find 
him. She could try her spitted fire on the lech¬ 
erous red men, he added cynically, if the Gover¬ 
nor’s court was not enough. 

“But before you go, Folly, you damned little 
temptress-” 

Gently she repelled his arm. “I have taken my 
soul on this new quest, Stephen. When Will is 
found, and Teach is underground, then, per¬ 
haps-” 

“But you mean nothing to me in those words,” 
he looked clearly into her. 

She answered him as honestly. “No.” 

He bowed, in quiet cynical surrender. “I shall 
bid my grandson court you, in his day,” he said. 




CHAPTER XIII 
Storm 

Folly was kept all in the dark as to the prep¬ 
arations for the trip to the Carolinas. She was 
allowed some word in the selection of a more 
elaborate wardrobe than she had ever dreamed of 
actually possessing. In this, she had the aid of 
the Countess—a lock-lipped and slightly hard¬ 
eyed patroness, with tell-tale red rims around her 
eyes. Beyond this, she was told nothing, until, 
five days later, she was driven down to Gravesend, 
where she had her first sight of the Royal James , 
in which she was to sail. 

While Westport and his wife were making final 
arrangements, an old seaman swayed by, and 
stopped to comment on the ship. “Eh, she’s a 
bluff, apple-cheeked, flat-bottomed devil, the Royal 
James she is. She gits there, she do. Eh, she gits 
there.” 

“Is—is she fast?” 

“Fast, you says? Mebbe she be, an’ mebbe she 
ben’t. Not in dead weather, she ben’t. Give her 
a fairish wind, an’ she’s a reg’lar roll-along-blow- 
along old girl. Eh, she pull in her topsails, she 
do, if it blow nothin’ at all; barrin’ that, she gits 
210 


STORM 211 

there. Not in this wind, Cap’n Elton won’t loose 
her ground-tackle; not he.” 

“You mean that she won’t start today?” 

“Eh, he don’t like a blow, Cap’n Elton he don’t. 
Not Cap’n Elton. Fair-weather Harry, they call 
’im. Not in this little puff. Not Cap’n Elton.” 

And so it turned out. The coach trundled them 
back to Westport Court, for a delay that all took, 
as if by agreement, in a highly philosophical spirit. 

That night the wind whined and snickered about 
the eaves without let-up; if anything, at sunup it 
was blowing more freshly. One day more of 
inaction seemed inevitable. 

And then, about noon, the wind suddenly tem¬ 
pered. There was a hurried lashing of the coach 
horses, that brought them in some turbulence down 
to the quay. In a sort of a daze Folly felt the 
heave and tug of the harbor swell beneath her, 
clambered up the ship’s ladder, bade Westport 
farewell—the lips this time, not the cheek—and 
stood fascinated as the sailors heave-ho’d and 
chanteyed the last topgallant-sail into place. 

So began the long voyage. The Countess 
showed no sea-legs at all, and had to take to her 
cabin for most of the time. This threw Folly 
upon her own ample resources. The passengers 
she found distinctly uninteresting: a few colonial 
merchants testy over the onerous Acts of Naviga¬ 
tion; several suspicious papists bound for Mary¬ 
land; and, for the rest, Englanders bent to the 


212 


FOLLY 


colonies for their ill-success at home, often of a 
sneaking, criminal nature. But the sailors from 
the first captivated her. There were no crimped 
men among them, but queer weazened veterans 
who had followed the sea since childhood. Cap¬ 
tain Elton preferred a crew he could trust; these 
had been with him for many voyages. 

All but one of them, Folly discovered. The 
exception was a brawny half-Spanish chap, who 
called himself Juan Hickox: a strange, silent man 
he seemed to be, with a great scar parting his face 
from the left temple, to be lost in the swarthy 
undergrowth of his beard. He did not dislike the 
girl, she felt from the start; yet, while the others 
spoke with free civility, he held his silence. She 
found it more enjoyable to sit quietly near where 
he was working, or to stray into the neighborhood 
of his watch and seek to absorb the sea through his 
eyes, than to sample the easier company of the 
others. 

For a few days the wind was fresh, and the 
ship ploughed forward under shortened canvas. 
Then a warm spell came in, with interminable 
stinging, misty rains. One night this broke sud¬ 
denly into a squall that carried away the fore-royal 
mast entirely. The next day they lay by to mend 
the riggings, a proceeding much halted by a great 
eclipse of the sun, which lasted from noon until 
after three. The wind continued contrary and 
impetuous into the night. 


STORM 


213 


The next day, a Saturday, dawned cloudy. By 
eight it had cleared, and the fore-topsail and then 
the main-topsail were set. There was very little 
wind, but a great southern sea; what wind there 
was came in small whiffling gusts, one of which 
split the spritsail. This was easily mended, and 
she got under way again. 

During all this time, the girl had kept at it with 
Hickox; at last, her very persistence began to tell 
upon the taciturn seaman. She began to volunteer 
details of her own life; soon his questions drew 
out more than she had intended to reveal. Her 
adventure with Bloody Wynne, her scene with the 
King, drew many a quiet chuckle from him. She, 
in turn, could hardly force her eyes away from the 
strange, pale scar, that burned red as his face 
twisted into a laugh. 

“You’ve come through summat unscathed, Mis¬ 
tress,” he said slowly, slitting his eyes. 

“You have been through more,” she answered 
quickly, “and not wholly unscathed.” 

His slow hand rose, and traced out the corruga¬ 
tions of the scar. “Aye. Ye’d like to know how 
I earned that love-scratch, I’ll wager.” 

“If you wish to tell-” 

“Ssh, Mistress! Hurt in a brawl, I tell this 
sober vermin aboard the Royal Jack; aye, that’s 
what I tell the likes of them.” He paused, and 
spat meditatively over the rail into the swirl of 
green below. 



214 


FOLLY 


“Yes,” she prompted uncertainly. 

“Not to you. Ye’re summat of a hell-minx 
yourself, I misdoubt not. So was the man as 
give me this sweet token, devil take his foul 
bones!” 

“And that was-” Evidently the story needed 

frequent urging. 

He squirmed closer to her side, and lowered his 
tone, making sure first that he was not overheard. 
He nudged a thumb toward several of the sailors, 
some distance off. “They’d hang me high on 
Liverpool docks, if they got wind of it, the psalm- 
singin’ dogs! It was Bartholomew Sharp done 
this—Cap’n Sharp hisself, shrivel his foul soul! 
Ye’ve heard tell of Sharp?” A quick, suspicious 
query. 

“I—I never heard-” 

“Naw; ye wouldn’t. A pirate he were, Mistress 
—summat of a pirate he were!” He paused, to 
let the full force of this sink in. 

“I—I’ve never known any-” 

“—An’ a bloody son of a bloody mazard,” he 
interrupted with aloof courtesy, sails set upon the 
narrative at last. “We sailed up from English 
Gulf, we did, down by Magellan Straits it were, 
aimin’ for the Straits we were. Cap’n were drunk, 
he were, an’ played us some devil’s trick with the 
compass, an’ blundered us out into the ocean. 
Twelve mortal weeks we sailed, we did, an’ only 
luffed into Barbados by chance. That’s the kind 





STORM 


215 


of navigator Bartholomew Sharp were, Mistress.” 

He paused, and spat reflectively. This time, 
Folly respected his silence. 

“We’d been out a month or more, an’ I roused 
up some lads of mettle; them an’ me was goin’ to 
stick a dirk in his midriff, we were, or shoot him 
if the knife miscarried. Some foul tattler took 
him word; he claps me into irons, an’ bound as I 
were, he comes at me, drunk an’ all, an’ takes a 
lunge at my neck. I twists down as his blade 
falls, an’ throws myself to the side; an’ he does 
this to me.” 

“You—what could you-” 

“I were gone, Mistress; for a week I didn’t 
know beans from barley. They held him back, 
an’ took away his knife, Cap’n as he were an’ all, 
or he’d ’a’ ended me there an’ then. So I gits well, 
an’ we hits the islands, as I were tellin’.” 

He paused again in telling his story, staring 
through her. 

“You—you were lucky-” 

“Eh, I were, I were. We give away the ship to 
some of the men, we did, an’ some sailed on the 
Lisbon Merchant to Dartmouth, an’ some sailed to 
Bristol, an’ Sharp he stayed behind, he did, him 
being Cap’n an’ able to pick up another crew an’ 
ship, he were, an’ me—” he paused, to make this 
doubly impressive, “—an’ me, I stays behind, all 
unbeknownst. Yeah—I were lucky, I were. I 
got him!” 




216 


FOLLY 


Folly felt a disposition to retreat away from the 
man’s glare. “You-” 

“I’ll tell ye all. I came afoul of him one dark 
night, him sober for oncet. It was him an’ me for 
it, it were. That’s the yarn, Mistress. He won’t 
gouge no more honest shipmates’ faces, not he, not 
Bartholomew Sharp, shrivel his black soul!” 

“You—you killed him?” 

“Aye, I killed him, right enough. An’ he ain’t 
the only one, Sharp ain’t. Not he. Now you see, 
Mistress, why I don’t want this godly vermin to 
know who Juan Hickox is—else my time wouldn’t 
be worth a Dutchman’s damn—clapped in irons 
aboard, an’ strung up at the nearest port.” 

“What are you doing on this sort of ship, then?” 

He stared across the slow waste of waters. “A 
man as knows the sea never knows anything else. 
A man as knows the black flag never stands straight 
under anything else. That’s me, Mistress. I got 
marooned from another ship, I did; an’ when luck 
threw me back to England, I crimped a bit out of 
Bristol, waitin’ for the turn of the tide, in a man¬ 
ner of speaking; waitin’ to join the black gentry, 
to out with it. An’ here I am; in the Carolinas, 
they all coast in—the pirates do-” 

“Hickox,” the second mate slashed angrily in, 
“I been lookin’ all over for you. Get the hell up 
forward—pardon the way o’ sayin’ it, Mistress—I 
ain’t seen you there.” 

With a warning contortion of his face, that 




STORM 


217 


brought the scar out vividly again, Hickox sham¬ 
bled along as directed. Folly, left alone, fell to 
studying the world of sea, that was the only world 
in sight. 

She let her fancies go roaming out toward the 
level horizon, a wild waste of dun green waters, 
with a shifting cast of blue from above. There 
was nothing else, nothing but the endless diminish¬ 
ing swell, in which there could be nothing friendly, 
nothing redeeming. The world she knew had 
dropped away to an invisible unreality and an 
eternal non-existence: the world ahead was noth¬ 
ing but the endless sullen suavity of waters. No 
life—no visible life, at least; whatever life there 
was moved and heaved in utter under darkness, 
and was no life such as she knew and loved. It 
was too immense, too unnoticing, too inhuman. 

Her eye for very pain glided closer, within the 
very shadow of the ship. Here, her soul fixed on 
one wave, she could see contrast and variety, which 
was the essence of life ashore. That great smooth 
white-frothed comber there, swelling oilily up¬ 
ward toward her—an intricate design of foam 
upon it, a dark mass of seaweed now at its height 
—yet even as she watched, the dark heart was gone 
wholly, the pattern wavered, shifted, altered 
again, a bewildering and annoying kaleidoscope: 
and now the whole wave, with an upward lap 
toward her face, as it collided with the side of the 
ship, vanished by mighty suction out of sight. 


218 


FOLLY 


Another and another she sought to fix her soul 
upon: no sooner fixed, than each one was no 
more. 

Was there nothing fixed, nothing stable, noth¬ 
ing to cling to, in all this watery skin of the solid 
globe? Men at least—she herself—these were at 
least stable. No, she was altering hourly, aging 
insensibly, as were all men: time itself seemed a 
vast, unstable, unanswering human tide, down 
which men went drifting—down which she went 
drifting: tumbling now up into a sky ecstasy, flung 
now into an abysmal trough of dejection. With, at 
the end, the light heart of her own wave gone 
glimmering out of sight—into what ultimate light 
or darkness who could tell? 

Wise men said that there was a world of fixity, 
of eternal serenity, which she could earn by a life 

strait-jacketed thus or thus- But which of 

the many conflicting ways? And what heed should 
she give them, when all who shone or darkened in 
man’s eye paid no heed to the sagest counsel? 

She rose, saddened by the black enormitude of 
the world of eternal alteration; she passed down 
into her cabin. Was there no land left in the 
world? 

That night she kept a watch for the Spanish 
sailor, but could not locate him. Early the next 
morning she saw him working sardonically away. 
She made it her business to near him again. 

“Did you ever encounter,” she began diffi- 



STORM 219 

dently enough, “a pirate named Teach, in any 
of your wanderings?” 

“Pirate, Mistress? Crimp he were, an’ no 
pirate, when I knew him. In Bristol it were, an’ 
I crimped a bit mysel’, it being so to speak a holi¬ 
day for me from my true trade, which is with the 
black gentry, as they say. Teach—Ed Teach— 
Blackbeard he were called, for his foul black- 
bearded face, all hair an’ no skin. Ay, an’ a nasty 
one he were; I said summat he didn’t favor prop¬ 
erly once, an’ he outs with his dirty dirk an’ comes 
at me like all hell blown loose, he did. My mates 
held him off, that they did; but I’ll bear him a 
bang for that yet, pox take me if I don’t—him an’ 
his dirty pride an’ his ugly black beard. Says he’s 
pistol-proof, Teach does. I’ll Teach him!” 

“But he is a pirate now, they say-” 

“I heard summat o’ that; I misdoubt if he be, 
though there’s cause enough to drive all dishonest 
landsmen into an honest calling. Eh, piratin’ 
ain’t what it were once, an’ that’s a sad fact. Me, 
I’ve served with Francis L’Ollonais once, that I 
have, before I went with that dratted Sharp. 
There were a man for you!” 

“I may have heard of him-” 

Eyes half closed, pale scar reddening at his 
cruel smile, the Spanish sailor did not heed her 
words. “No milk-an’-water, psalm-singin’ pirate 
he were, but a man as did honor to the black flag. 
Many’s the tall ship his broadsides’s pierced 




220 


FOLLY 


like a colander! Ye’ve heard of him, ye say?” 

“I think-” 

His voice sank lower, his eyes gleamed small. 
“I were with him, I were, when he sacked Mara¬ 
caibo, yes, an’ Gibraltar too. I mind one day we 
were near San Pedro, when a snivellin’ troop of 
Spaniards hid on us, an’ stormed out like fiends 
from a graveyard at black midnight. Most of 
’em we killed, an’ L’Ollonais he twisted out of the 
few prisoners somehow that there was more am¬ 
buscades ahead of us. Yes, they egged him on, 
there were; an’ not a one of ’em would show us 
how to get into the town around ’em. What did 
Cap’n Francois do, do ye think?” 

“He—he killed them?” 

“He were an unmerciful man, were Francois 
L’Ollonais. He pulled out his cutlass—I stood as 
nigh him as you are to me—an’, Zouppp! he had 
crashed open the first man’s breast, that quick, 
with no word at all! I saw his hands, blood an’ 
all, as he plucked out the man’s heart, and gnawed 
it with his teeth like a hound would. Ate the heart, 
he did, an’ him close to me as you are now! 
‘Show me the way,’ he roared at ’em, ‘or I’ll serve 
ye all this selfsame way!’ He would of, too; that 
he would of!” 

He paused to ponder. 

Folly at length prompted again, “They showed 
it?” 

“Ay. They showed it, right enough. He were 



STORM 


221 


a man of his word, L’Ollonais were; no drunken, 
lying hog, like some I could mention. I don’t 
know whether I’ll feel myself, with all these mod¬ 
ern, higgledy-piggledy pedlars an’ holders for 
ransom. Ay, I wish myself luck: maybe I can 
find one craft where a pirate is a pirate!” 

This was only the first of many astonishing 
reminiscences; the veteran’s bottled-up memories 
almost overflooded her. 

The weather continued easy, but the sky threat¬ 
ened trouble. It remained a threat for two days. 
The second night, Folly dropped off at last to 
sleep, in spite of the uneasy heave of the ship. 
She woke out of a horrid topsy-turvy nightmare, to 
find the ship rolling and bucking convulsively, 
with no steadiness discernible. 

The Countess insisted that the girl stay within 
the cabin: the noblewoman herself was on her 
knees, moaning over and over again the prayers 
against danger from sea and flood. She would 
not let go her clutch of Folly’s hand; the girl had 
to compose herself, for all the muffled commotion 
outside, until day filtered grayly into the cabin. 

The fury of the tempest was still upon them. 
The moment she appeared on deck, the mate 
cursed her below. Dodging out of his sight, she 
made for the deck. She looked upward: the whole 
familiar scene was altered; the foremast snapped 
off halfway up, the mainmast a mere stump; only 
the mizzen still stood. The sailors were cutting 


222 


FOLLY 


away the rigging of the foresail, which was caus¬ 
ing a perilous list as each sea washed against the 
dismantled vessel; the main rigging was gone 
already. 

She saw a great sea running in the air toward 
her. Only her ready wit in climbing a stairway 
toward the wheelroom saved her from being 
drenched through. Part of the crew were throw¬ 
ing overboard spare barrels of water, and heavy 
bales from the cargo; the great ship’s cable was 
eased away while she watched. From the screamed 
commands, she understood that the pumps were 
working badly. The Royal James had been 
sheared of much of its royalty, by the rude shoul¬ 
dering of storm and sea. 

The Captain himself besought her to go below; 
she imperiously refused his insistence. On her 
head be it, he worried solemnly; it might make 
little difference, within a few hours. 

Indeed, the day never dawned rightly. The 
heavy sky hardly lightened; the storm continued 
unabated. Somehow the emergency efforts suf¬ 
ficed to keep her floating, and all the long after¬ 
noon and night the men struggled for bare life 
against the heavy-handed elements. 

Then, two hours before the second dawn was 
due, the fury flowed away, the vast heave sub¬ 
sided, the sea calmed again to strange, treacher¬ 
ous tranquillity. Only then did Folly go down to 
her cabin, to find the Countess peevish because 


STORM 


223 


there had been delay in her last meal. She did 
not and would not realize that the ship’s life had 
been in danger. Westport had arranged for pas¬ 
sage to America, she explained simply, and of 
course passage to America they would have. She 
regarded the storm, now that it had gone, as a bit 
of inconsideration on the part of the captain; and 
implied that she intended to write to her husband 
about it. 

Folly escaped from this, after a couple of hours, 
and made again for the wrecked deck. As she 
came to the top of the companionway, her eyes 
lighted with wonder and delight. Within a mile, 
a great ship was bearing down upon them, ship- 
rigged, as meticulously spick-and-span as if it had 
blossomed softly out of a tempest. 

“It will be our salvation!” she gasped in 
charmed wonder. Seeing the Captain staring 
moodily at the approaching stranger, she repeated 
her remark for his benefit. 

“Note its flag,” he said somberly. “Salvation, 
my lady?” 

She made it out then—a brilliant flutter of black 
against the pallid gray clouds. 

“Pirates, of course,” she said simply. 

All at once a strange feeling washed over her: 
she felt that she had been through this before: that 
she had all but known that this was an inevitable 
chapter in the trip; that just below thought had 
hovered a foreknowledge of this meeting. It 


224 


FOLLY 


seemed to be an echo of something she had lived: 
just so, to her out of desolation, this bright- 
bellied splendor of sea-wings had come over the 
damp rim of the earth. 

Somehow she sensed beyond this that the thing 
was for her benefit, rather than for the crew and 
the passengers: that it had been she only who 
had been buffeted by the storm, and who was now 
visited in her torn haggardness by the white¬ 
winged bird with the bright black plume in its 
crest. She dramatized the whole thing abruptly 
within herself: she was stepping from the wreck¬ 
age of old England to the firm deck of stern vice, 
of disregard for man’s broken tablets of stone, of 
regard for sterner, older laws graven in the ele¬ 
ments, before man had opened timid eyes for the 
first time upon his callous earth. 

She felt—more and more clearly it came—that 
the pirate craft came for her rescue, indeed, at her 
bidding. It was her serfs who drew near, to hail 
her, their queen. 

By now, the black-badged stranger had come 
within hail. A man, erect, sturdy, called across 
the tempered heave, “Royal James, stand by as a 
prize.” 

“What ship are you, and under what flag?” 
Captain Elton called out against hope. 

The voice bugled in black joy: “The Queen 
Anne's Revenge, a ship-of-war of forty guns, Cap¬ 
tain Edward Teach commanding. We fly the Jolly 
Roger. Stand by; we are coming aboard.” 


CHAPTER XIV 
The Black Gentry 

As the evil news broke over them, pitiable con¬ 
fusion possessed the decks of the Royal James . 
Captain, mates, passengers, many of the crew, 
thronged, distracted and leaderless, in the waist. 

“My God, what can I do?” groaned the Captain 
aloud. 

“Best give in without bloodshed,” urged the 
first mate, his face strange with fear. “They 
wouldn’t kill unarmed men-” 

“That’s true, that’s very true-” 

“That’s just who they do kill, axin’ your pardon, 
sir,” one of the hands scowled at the trembling 
officer. “They’ll have all of us walkin’ the plank 
before nightfall, you may lay to that, sir.” 

“I’ve heard that too,” Elton hung a troubled 
head. 

“Why not stand by to repel boarders? We can 
kill them as gets aboard,” the Spanish sailor 
pushed himself boldly in front of the chief officer. 
“If it’s Teach, we’re good as dead already; just 
as well take a few gentlemen o’ fortune along.” 
Something fugitive and shocking scurried across 
his eyes, or so it seemed to Folly, who was watch¬ 
ing every play of emotion in the tense see-saw. 

225 




226 


FOLLY 


“If I knew what to do-” 

“I’ll lead ’em,” said Juan Hickox desper¬ 
ately. “Shall I order hands to cutlasses, to repel 
boarders?” 

“That might be best-” 

“Out with your blades, men!” in a piercing 
whisper, that could not be heard by the pirate 
boat, which was already nearing the dismantled 
ship. “Hide behind those bulwarks there—be 
ready to rush ’em!” 

The mate, finding the Captain unoccupied, 
caught him frenziedly by the shoulders. “This is 
suicide for all of us, passengers and men alike! 
Best yield without a struggle, Captain-” 

The driven Captain stared at him emptily; his 
eyes slowly lidded. “I think you’re right-” 

Without further word the mate rushed off, and 
reappeared with a small rope ladder. Elton, still 
of two minds, veered between giving a hand to the 
mate in fixing the ladder, and seeing to the placing 
of the armed sailors. 

The spell was broken by a great voice, breaking 
like quick thunder in their midst. “Surrender, in 
the Governor’s name!” 

Teach, alone, appeared at the top of the ladder. 
He swung himself over the railing to the deck, and 
stood, scornfully magnificent, facing them. 

At the very moment, a sailor, cutlass in hand, 
sneaked down behind the mate, and cut the rope 
ladder. 






THE BLACK GENTRY 


227 


There was a medley of shrieks, a splashing from 
below: evidently at least one of the pirates had 
taken an involuntary bath. 

“Use your irons!” For all the great roll of his 
voice, the pirate chief did not take his eyes an 
instant from the crowd on the deck. From the 
Captain down, they stood aghast at his horrid 
appearance. His face was dreadful enough, with 
its black meteor of hair running from the eyes 
down into a great black beard, tied with blood-red 
ribbons over his ears. More than this, lighted 
matches sputtered on both sides of his face, stuck 
in the hair under his hat. His wild eyes roamed 
like a fiend’s; he stood at ease, his cutlass in its 
scabbard, his six pistols swinging from bandoliers 
over the two vast shoulders. 

“Rush him!” screamed Hickox, appearing from 
behind the bulwarks at the head of his armed 

sailors. “He’s only one man-Kill the black 

devil!” 

Blackbeard gave a hideous laugh, that stopped 
the more timorous of the sailors as if a hand had 
clutched them. With a motion so quick that eye 
could hardly catch it, he had two pistols out and 
bearing on the breast of Hickox. “Aye, one man 
I am—and one man you are. Stop, in the devil’s 
name, before I blow your foul breast wide open!” 

The Spaniard halted, transfixed by the glower¬ 
ing ferocity. The other sailors could have rushed, 
but they durst not stir. 



228 


FOLLY 


Teach laughed again, a gruesome cackle. “I’ll 
be hung and sun-dried, if it ain’t my old friend 
Black Juan, the dirty crimp! Up irons, and 
a-board!”—a summer thunder to his men below. 
“My old friend!” There was a dreadful sardonic 
caress in the words. 

At the moment, two of the buccaneers appeared 
at his side, then two more. Teach gestured with 
the pistols at the nerveless sailor. “Take his 
blade.” 

Hickox, as if charmed in the piercing glare of 
those terrible eyes, stared at Teach while the cut¬ 
lass was disengaged from his hand. Teach glided 
toward him, his feet moving as quietly as a cat’s, 
until he was two feet away: his eyes still held the 
man numb. 

The voice came in a horrid, piercing purr. 
“You got away in Bristol, you spawn of a black 
betrayer, before I gave you the death you earned. 
It’s dead twice you are, by the Crimps’ Rules, an’ 
by the Articles of the Gentlemen of Fortune. You 
lyin’ dog! You told me once you killed Sharp— 
Bloody Sharp, a freebooter who died of a fever, 
hell rest his racked bones! You’ll never boast 
you killed me. Here, my friend—taste this!” 
The horrible whisper chilled all who heard it. 

With a shuttling gesture of his hands, the 
pirate’s two pistols were back in their holsters, and 
the cutlass was in his hands. “So dogs die!” The 
naked blade whistled up into the air, and came 


THE BLACK GENTRY 


229 


down with a terrible stroke, that split the man’s 
skull before the horrified eyes of the others. 

The Spaniard gave one wild, inhuman moan, 
and crumpled in his blood to the deck. 

Teach stooped enough to wipe the blade on the 
man’s coat, then gave the body a casual nudge 
with his foot. “Heave the dog over,” he ordered 
curtly. “Any more of your men, Cap’n, wants a 
taste? No? Not one? An’ you call yourself 
British men! Hark then my word to you.” 

He gave his demand for the surrender of all 
arms at once, and listened with open impatience to 
the Captain’s stammering account of the number 
of crew, passengers, and the tally of the cargo. 

“Hardly worth a man’s time,” he grumbled in 
restored good humor. “I’ll take you an’ six pas¬ 
sengers on board as hostages, an’ tow in the rest 
under guard.” 

Elton found something of the man in himself. 
“Where are you taking us?” 

“To my good friend Governor Eden, of Caro¬ 
lina. There your ship’ll be condemned, an’ you 
may build your own to return in.” 

“May I-” 

“You may batten down your damned hatches, 
an’ if I hear one word more from you, up the 
plank you go,” the pirate roared suddenly. “Batt 
Roberts, you’re in charge with six men; Hands, 
pick out half a dozen passengers to ride the Re¬ 
venge in.” 



230 


FOLLY 


“Aye, aye, sir.” 

As the man addressed as Hands hesitated, Folly, 
who had crept close enough to overhear every¬ 
thing, whispered to the Captain, “Take me and my 
maid, Captain Elton, as two of your hostages.” 

“No, no-” 

But Hands had overheard the whisper, and saw 
his task of selection lightened by two. He ordered 
the girl and Hannah to descend at once to the 
pirate’s boat, and the Captain to follow. Four 
other passengers were secured—the Countess dis¬ 
creetly stayed out of sight, so was not included— 
and the boat, with Black Teach at the bow, was 
rowed over to the imposing ship which flaunted the 
black banner. 

A wild notion had entered Folly’s head, as she 
first heard Blackbeard’s demand for hostages. He 
had not recognized her, that was certain; he would 
never dream of vengeance pursuing him in the 
person of a mere girl. If she could get close 
enough to him, on his own ship, she could lay 
hands on a weapon somehow, and pay him in per¬ 
son for what he had done to Will—who might, for 
all she knew, be now where that poor Spanish 
sailor was. Keeping her face as far as possible 
away from Teach’s scrutiny, she climbed up the 
ladder to the pirate decks, and was assigned by 
Hands to a cabin with Hannah. They were the 
only two women on board; but, at least, the other 
ship was at the end of the towrope. Somehow she 



THE BLACK GENTRY 231 

knew that she would face down any emergency 
that might arise. 

She disfigured her beauty as much as possible, 
when she reported to meals, having her hair 
dressed awkwardly, and her face made down 
toward homeliness. So far, Teach had paid no 
attention to her. She made it her business at all 
moments to learn the ship; most of all she kept 
her eyes open for a weapon, as well as for some fit 
place to surprise the dreaded leader, and satisfy 
her debt from him. 

Wilder thoughts crossed her mind: why should 
she not become the pirate captain herself, with 
Blackbeard out of the way, and do as many a dis¬ 
gruntled gentleman had long done? This was 
before the time of Mary Read and Anne Bonny, 
who did what Folly dreamed; but her fancies 
ranged on to a courteous pirate empire, with her¬ 
self as its suzerain. 

By the second day, she had discovered that all 
was not well on Blackbeard’s ship. Queerly 
enough, she was one of the causes—she and Han¬ 
nah. She overheard two separate groups berating 
the leader for his mercy to the captured passengers 
and crew, and for allowing a woman on board, 
even as hostage. One of these was led by that 
Hands who had selected the cabin for her; and, 
as he and four others were grumbling bitterly 
under their breaths about the situation, Teach 
came upon them. It was on the forecastle, and 


232 FOLLY 

Folly crouched behind one of the boats slung be¬ 
side the bulwarks. 

“Why ain’t you bloody shirkers at your work?” 
their captain roared at them. 

The faces, Folly noted, blanched at the man’s 
words. But Hands put what face he could on it. 
“This is reg’lar, Capting. This is a council, this 
is. Rules.” 

“Fo’c’sle council,” supplemented another apolo¬ 
getically. 

“Foc’s’le hell! This ain’t a pirate ship, an’ 
don’t you forget it! We’re a gov’ment ship, we 
are, a bloody gov’ment ship sent out by the gov¬ 
ernor to get prizes. No foc’s’le councils goes on 
gov’ment ships, not while I’m Capting, lawfully 
elected.” 

“We fly the Jolly Roger-” 

“We’ll fly what I damned please, without lip 
o’ yours, Israel Hands. Besides,” and Black- 
beard smirked proudly, “the black flag is the new 
flag o’ Carolina, by Gov’nor’s orders. But speak 
up, men—what’s your trouble? I’lL always listen, 
before I eat blood.” 

Despite the ferocious scowl, Hands was not 
daunted. “The capting an’ passengers an’ all of 
the Royal James —they didn’t walk the plank; an’ 
Rules-” 

“No more they didn’t, blast your imperdent 
scuppers; an’ you want to know why? Who’s got 
a agreement with Gov’nor Eden, I asks you that? 




THE BLACK GENTRY 


233 


Who’s agreed not to kill English crews an’ pas¬ 
sengers, unless in self-defense? I asks you that! 
Who’s makin’ every bloody son of a Jolly Roger 
of us richer as bloody kings? I asks you that! 
You, Israel Hands? You, Batt Roberts? I asks 
you that!” 

“Oh, we ain’t denyin’-” 

“It’s Teach — Teach — Bloody Teach — Devil 
Teach—Blackbeard Teach! By Gatt, I’ll bust a 
marlinspike against the pate of the first son of a 
bloody sea-cook starts to denyin’ what I say! If 
you don’t like it, I’ll put you over in a boat, now 
an’ here; or, when we reach port, you can go where 
you damned well please. But while I’m Cap- 
ting-” 

“If the crew don’t like it, Teach, if the crew 
don’t-” 

“Damn the crew; we ain’t piratin’ this trip, I 
tells you!” 

“Yaas,” the man called Batt Roberts held up 
the stump of his left hand and pointed it toward 
the leader, “an’ Article Six, Teach? What about 
that?” 

“Oh hell, oh Davy Jones, oh—oh—oh- I’ll 

go mad, I tell you, an’ eat the stinkin’ heart out o’ 
your foul body, that I will, if I hear any more silly 
vermin spoutin’ Rules at me. Don’t I know the 
Rules? Didn’t I help draw ’em up? Ain’t I keep 
’em, on any piratin’ cruise? Article Six, the man 
says: ‘No boys or women to be allowed amongst 





234 


FOLLY 


them.’ Amongst who, I asks you that? Amongst 
King’s men? Amongst Gov’nor’s men? I asks 
you that, shiver your gaffs for a gar-blooded sea- 
lawyer. As for those women-” he paused sig¬ 

nificantly, and Folly had a sudden mad fancy that 
his eyes lingered shrewdly upon the very boat that 
concealed her, 66 —don’t you worry; before I finish 
with ’em, you’ll find ’em where every woman’s 
got to be put!” 

“That’s all right, Capting-” 

“I finish this cruise,” he ignored the interrup¬ 
tion, “and then you may say what you want to, if 
you dare. But don’t you prate Rules at me, or 
I’ll turn devil himself, an’ make a bloody bumin’ 
hell out o’ this ship you’ll never know tomorrer 
out of. Put that in your stinkin’ pipes an’ smoke 
it!” 

With this, he strode villainously away. The 
others, cowed by the outburst, distrustful of each 
other, scattered slowly to their tasks. 

Well, Folly reflected, at least the pirate was 
something of a bully, to keep these other men in 
order. He was, after all, their black shield now. 

Two nights later, she had another sight of 
Teach’s humor. She had stolen away, after sup¬ 
per, for a rummage in an empty bunk beyond the 
bulkhead at the end of her room; she had already 
located the captain’s cabin as the room beyond. 
She crept into the deserted cabin, and pulled the 
door to for greater security. In the murk she 




THE BLACK GENTRY 


235 


searched every corner of the foul place; nothing 
resembling a weapon was in reach. 

Disconsolate, she was about to leave, when she 
heard feet stamping into the adjoining room, which 
was Teach’s. Perhaps she could overhear what 
was said. She crept close to the further bulk¬ 
head, to find her eye blinded by a sudden ray of 
light. She shrank abruptly back, and the bril¬ 
liance disappeared. A quick investigation dis¬ 
closed a knot which had been knocked out; the 
candle had for a moment had its beam turned full 
on the hole. 

Crouching down, she fixed her eye to the open¬ 
ing, to watch what she could see. 

There were four men in the cabin—Blackbeard, 
Hands, the sour boatswain, and a seaman whom 
she had not noticed before. The talk was inconse¬ 
quential at first; all seemed on the best of terms. 
The boatswain, the oldest man in the group, 
drifted back in reminiscing to his early days in the 
Tortugas: he told of caymans, or crocodiles, three¬ 
score and ten feet in length and thrice a man’s 
height in width, who caught boars and wild cows, 
and dragged them under the water; of tortoises 
weighing three thousand pounds, that took six men 
two days to cut up, once they were caught; of un¬ 
mentionable rapine and debauchery. 

Folly listened to it all without blanching: were 
her ears made of more fragile stuff than man’s? 
She resented being fenced even from the gutter, 


236 


FOLLY 


even though she did not choose to live there for¬ 
ever; and this eavesdropping was part of her 
purpose on board the somber craft. Her eyes held 
on Teach in fascination: he sat listening to it all, 
his fiery black eyes lidded. To her amazement, she 
soon discovered that his hands were not idle, for 
all his apparent calm. He was slowly drawing 
out of their holsters the two lowest of his pistols, 
just under the edge of the table. 

A quick look around showed her that his action 
was unperceived, except by the fourth man pres¬ 
ent, the young seaman. With a muttered apology, 
this man slipped to his feet, and made for the 
deck. Teach scowled quietly after him, and looked 
again at the unsuspicious pair remaining. Folly’s 
eyes froze in fascination as he hefted the pistols 
quietly a couple of times, still out of sight, and 
then cocked them. 

What strange serene murder was she about to 
witness? 

“They was the real gentlemen of fortune,” con¬ 
cluded the old boatswain appreciatively, and spat 
against the wall. “We ain’t got such men today, 
eh, Teach?” 

“No,” he sneered. “Not many, that is. Here’s 
a little trick I learned in hell, as may make you 
grin. Watch this!” He leaned forward with a 
sudden swing, and blew out the sole candle. 

“Hey—what in-” 

Out of the swirling darkness she saw two spurts 



THE BLACK GENTRY 237 

of flame, framed in smoke. A wild scream from 
one or both of the men, she could not be sure— 
and men came running, with lit lanterns that 
washed in gold the room. 

There sat Blackbeard, as calm as before, his 
eyes still lidded, the two smoking weapons in his 
hands. The boatswain, eyes popping, was scrooged 
back into one comer; Hands, face twisted by pain, 
was groaning convulsively, as he held on to his 
leg. 

“Get you?” grinned Teach amicably. 

“You black devil, you hit me- Ugh! Right 

through the knee. You might ’a’ killed me!” 

“I might,” smiled the Captain, an odd, diabolic 
pride on his face. 

Hands stared wildly out of a chalky face: 
“What in hell did you do that for?” 

Teach gestured in courtly fashion. “You foul 
by-blows, if I didn’t kill one of you now and then, 
you’d forget just who I be. Take him out, Rob¬ 
erts—he’s fainted. Have his knee dressed.” 

The world would be well rid of such a scoun¬ 
drel, Folly decided definitely. But what a mag¬ 
nificent calmness in his cruelties! Yes, she must 
end him, though so far her project seemed as far 
off of accomplishment, as when it had first flashed 
into her mind. 

Within an hour, she shared the common gossip 
that the Carolina coast would likely be reached by 
the next day. She must make one final effort to 



238 FOLLY 

find a weapon—any weapon—to carry out her 
purpose. 

With quick eyes, missing nothing, she prowled 
and rummaged around the ship: no, there was 
nothing in sight that could aid her. She even 
drew near where some men were splicing and 
marling some stray ends of rope, and fingered a 
marlinspike, momently unused. She had heard 
that seamen used it for a weapon. No, it would 
be beyond her to do any damage with it. 

Supper passed. On the deck again she sprawled 
disconsolate, Hannah at her side, on a coil of 
rope, and stared away at the changeless variety 
of the sea. She had long ceased to look with any 
interest at the pirates. There was nothing pic¬ 
turesque about them, on second view; only the 
tawdry dirtiness of their daily lives. Teach did 
something to look kempt; the rest were utter 
slovens. 

There were three of them now, leeched on to the 
spritsail-gaff, hand-over-handing the flying-jib hal¬ 
yards. She wrinkled her nose in disgust at their 
foul linen shirts, their smeared linen drawers 
brown from the blood of slaughtered cattle, their 
hogskin leggings and sandals, with the rasping 
hair outward. The boat was kept in fashion as 
slovenly; gone was the trig air of the Royal James, 
gone utterly the trim vision the pirate boat had 
presented at first view. In its place was this foul 
floating nest, peopled with lurching, drunken 


THE BLACK GENTRY 239 

bravos, inhumanly roaring from the drink, or sul¬ 
len as its harvest. 

The sea, as ever, discouraged her. With a mut¬ 
tered excuse, she flung herself away from Hannah, 
and sought her cabin. 

To do this, she had to pass in front of the Cap¬ 
tain’s room. From force of habit, her eyes roved 
wearily into its candle-lit murk. 

Suddenly she stopped, her heart pounding, her 
breath tight within her. There, on the central 
table, lay a naked cutlass. 

She would get her chance, after all! 

With cat-like speed she glanced around; no one 
in sight of what she was about to do. In tense 
determination she stepped into the room, to get 
the blade, and slide it under her skirt. Her hands 
closed convulsively on the weapon, she began to 
hide it within the ample folds of her dress. At 
the same time, she half turned to make her way 
back to her cabin, and complete her plans there. 

Suddenly she froze in her tracks. A voice, 
bantering, sardonic, spoke out of the shadows at 
the end of the room. “May I lend you the blade?” 

She whirled around, to find the formidable bulk 
of Teach studying her through the slits of his 
eyes. His great black beard bobbed up and down, 

as if in derision. Words failed her. “Oh- 

I-” 

“Why, what are you tremblin’ for, lady? Black- 
beard’s no man to make a woman tremble—for 




240 


FOLLY 


nothing. You wanted the cutlass to trim your 
nails, maybe? Or to sharpen a quill? Were that 
it?” 

She sensed the cynic mockery, and ignored it. 
“I did not know you were here,” she affected dis- 
ingenuity to mask her sudden fright. “I thought 
—as a memento of the trip-” 

He flung himself upon the vast sea-chest against 
the bulwark. “Since you’ve came on board, you’ve 
sought that little memento, hour by hour, eh? 
Nothin’ else would suit your humor but a sharp 
blade, eh?” It was no question, that she knew. 

“Well, Captain—I didn’t think any harm-” 

“Oh, I’m sure of you now,” he nodded heavily. 
“You’re the girl in Bristol. You stood beside that 
old alderman, the night he set the watch on me, 
and drove me to the open sea.” 

“I have been in Bristol,” she temporized. “It 
was there I was bom-” 

“I’ve mulled a bit over the matter—it was that 
young cockerel I got for the Black Nan , weren’t 
it, as got the town on my heels?” 

Folly disregarded all pretense. “He was my 
brother,” she said simply. 

“Then the sprig weren’t lying. I misdoubted 
he might be tellin’ the truth.” 

“Where is he now?” She took the incisive 
offensive. 

“In Davy Jones’s locker, for all I know. Where 
is my sister now, for what the likes o’ he done?” 





THE BLACK GENTRY 


241 


“I am sure he did naught to her-” 

“His kind wronged her, right enough.” 

“Does one wrong wipe out another?” she flashed 
magnificently back. 

“Then why were you hefting that cutlass—that 
memento?” The eyes bored her with the same 
terrible serenity. 

She stared back, aghast at his swift wit. “I pay 
my debts,” she said daringly. 

“I am still payin’ mine. Her body were fished 
out o’ Thames, it were; your brother’s still alive, 
I doubt not. Others ain’t.” 

She stared at him, troubled. 

“What were you goin’ to do?” 

“Kill you, if I get the chance.” She gritted her 
teeth, and bent on him a look that deadlocked his 
own terrible ferocity. 

A sardonic smile grew upon his face, like a mask 
of horror. He pulled himself quickly to his feet; 
she half shivered away in fright. His huge hands 
ripped wide the shirt at his neck, revealing the 
great hairy, bulging chest, tattooed with strange 
faded devices clear to the navel. “Then strike, if 
you’ve got the guts,” he commanded splendidly. 

Oh, God! The chance she had longed and 
prayed for! The fool thought that she lacked 
courage or strength to see it through. Here was 
the way, thrust at her. The cutlass caught the 
glimmer of the candle, as she raised it in air. 
She held the haft in both hands high above her 



242 


FOLLY 


head; one blow, and he would never breathe 
again. 

She looked triumphantly in the face of what she 
was to sacrifice; and something in the eyes held 
her a moment. They were not closed in dumb 
resignation: they burned like bale-stars. There 
was a sneer in them, a sneer on the face, a sneer 
in the whole bearing of the man. 

By God, she would show him! 

She braced herself for the stroke: and that was 
all she did. For her life, she could not bring down 
the blade. 

So they stood frigid, facing one another, for a 
long, strange, strained pause. 

“You are not striking,” he taunted in icy slow¬ 
ness. 

“I- In cold blood-” She closed her 

eyes, and swayed a trifle. 

“Give me the toy. I laid it there for you to 
find. Get you back to woman’s work—to the 
needle and the distaff, the oven and the bed, the 
ballroom and the clip after. Get you to your 
woman’s trinkety doings--” 

“I was weak,” she said bitterly, handing over 
the sword with face turned sideways. 

“So are all women.” He stared at her, con¬ 
sidering her carefully. 

“I will meet you in fair combat-” 

He nodded securely. “Aye, in woman’s usual 
combat-” 







THE BLACK GENTRY 


243 


“You mean-” 

“—I’ll bed you first, my fine mistress. You 
will not escape: no woman has, whom I desired. 
In my own time-” 

She came closer to him, eyes smarting. “I 
could kill you now-” 

“A pleasant good night to your ladyship,” and 
he bowed at her retreating back. 

She marched blindly out ahead of him; his hate¬ 
ful chuckle pursued and noosed her. Then a 
voice chanted from the dimness of the bow ahead: 
“Land ho! Land ho!” 

“The Carolinas,” said Teach pleasantly at her 
ear. “This means that we postpone our play 
together.” 

“Oh! I could-” 

“As I planned,” he explained politely, holding 
her step to match his own. “You are in my world 
now; and you will find, when you land, you are 
still in my world. And now I’ll leave you to your 
hot red dreams.” A look that scorched her in¬ 
wardly, and he was gone. 






CHAPTER XV 
Ashore 

Folly did not get further word with Black- 
beard, before she went ashore. Not that he was 
not in evidence: he glowered upon the obeisant 
world around him like an emperor at his corona¬ 
tion. He stood forth a gallant figure, newly ap¬ 
parelled with a great coat of crimson with bright 
gold buttons, a rich lemon damask waistcoat and 
breeches, and a long black feather cocked in his 
hat. Around his neck hung a massive gold chain, 
with a cross at its end alternating sapphires and 
diamonds; his bandoliers were new apricot silk, 
fringed with gold. The girl felt herself ill-clad 
beside such splendor. 

It was not Teach, but the lamed and limping 
Hands, who took her and the others held as hos¬ 
tages ashore, through bickering snarls of bum- 
boats, sloops, Indian canoes, and a tangle of larger 
rigging. Captain Elton, once landed, took to pac¬ 
ing heavily backward and forward, awaiting the 
arrival of the boat holding the pirate captain. 
Folly, not sure whether she was technically freed 
or not, rested against a weathered post laced with 
many hawsers; her eager eyes busied themselves 
watching the blackamoor slaves at work. 

244 


ASHORE 


245 


As Blackbeard stepped ashore, Elton stalked up 
to him, half defiant and half obsequious. “—And 
my ship, Captain Teach?” 

“Rest easy on that score, Captain.” 

“You mean-” 

Hardly a flicker of sardonic mirth on the face, 
as he answered, “The Royal James will be con¬ 
demned as a prize no later than tomorrow.” 

“Why, this is an outrage! I’ll hie me straight 
to the Governor-” 

“Up this long street, then one turn to the left. 
The servants’ entrance is at the right,” said Teach 
negligently. He watched the impetuous departure 
of the commander with a pitying shake of his 
head. By now the Countess had joined the group, 
and hovered around Folly as if half afraid to touch 
her. Teach asked with much civility if he could 
see them to their destination. 

The Countess was of a mind to refuse the offer; 
but the girl accepted stiffly for the two of them. 
“You shorten my long task, Captain,” she said 
straightly. 

“Nor delay mine,” he bowed back. “Whom do 
you seek?” 

“Who but Governor Eden, of the Carolinas?” 

He marvelled aloud, “So you are bound too 
for Charles Eden of Edenton—a great man, as 
men go. Perhaps you go to report the evil pirate, 
as that will-he-won’t-he Captain of your ship is 
gone to do.” 




246 


FOLLY 


“We are to visit him,” explained Folly care¬ 
fully. “One thing I shall report,”—she lowered 
her voice and stared unsmilingly at him—“some¬ 
thing that happened long ago in Bristol Gorge. 
Lord it as you will over others; but when it comes 
to me and mine-” 

He bowed sardonically, and spoke to her ear 
alone. “We will both be his guests. Perhaps we 
shall meet there—without cutlasses.” 

Folly masked her curiosity, seething over the 
strange presumption that led a notorious law¬ 
breaker to the chief magistrate of the land; for 
the brief journey to the Governor’s mansion, she 
listened civilly to the vainglorious talk of the 
black chieftain. Then there before them was the 
jerry-built colonial office, with a group of elegant 
gentleman upon the wide steps. The girl picked 
out at once Captain Elton, talking to a smiling, 
well-groomed man who must be the Governor. 

Teach was ahead of her, however. “Ah, Gov¬ 
ernor-” 

At the harsh salutation, the official turned cour¬ 
teously from the Captain, and came down the 
steps, eyes dancing his delight. “Well, well, Ed 
Teach, it’s good to have you back. In your ab¬ 
sence, things have simmered considerably—your 
stern hand is needed with some of these petty 
water-rats. What sort of voyage did you have?” 

Captain Elton, mind made up somehow at last, 
pushed rudely in front of the pirate. “Governor, 




ASHORE 


247 


this is the very scoundrel I was telling you of! 
This is the man who boarded our ship, and com¬ 
mitted piracy on the high seas, against King 
George’s flag. Now’s your chance—clap him into 
jail, while he’s away from his other bloody 
rogues!” 

Governor Eden stepped gracefully back, and 
bowed ceremoniously. “Your pardon. Have you 
met Captain Elton of the Royal James , Teach? 
This is Captain Teach, our right-hand man.” 

“I’ve met him,” the pirate bowed with obvious 
mockery. 

“He’s the very scoundrel-” 

The easy tones of the Governor somehow flooded 
out the explosive complaint. “Teach, Captain 
Elton here has been telling me of an encounter he 
had with pirates, who robbed him of his ship. 
Did you note any of the black gentry on your 
voyage?” 

Elton’s eyes almost leapt from their sockets. 
“This is the very rogue, Your Excellency. I indict 
this man Teach for piracy, and demand that he 
be jailed at once!” 

Eden regarded him as if he had been a strange 
beast. “But this is extraordinary, Captain! Your 
misadventures must have gone to your head! Did 
you suffer a stroke of heat by any ill chance on 
your voyage over?” 

“Why, I tell you, Governor, that that rascally 
pirate-” 




248 


FOLLY 


“Peace, peace, sir! We wear more civil tongues 
in Carolina. Surely your eyes mistake you! This 
is my good crony, Edward Teach, who is in my 
very service.” 

“Why, I tell you that villain-” 

“Tut, tut, sir! You grow monotonous. There 
is an error here, of course. Isn’t there, Teach?” 

“A serious error, Charley.” 

“There, there, I was sure of it!” 

Elton’s face grew as red as a young beet. “Why, 
I’d know that foul face anywhere! I demand that 
you clap him in jail, and send a force to regain 
my ship-” 

“Could I oblige you further,” purred Eden 
smoothly, “by jailing myself, and sending over a 
writ against the King? As to your ship, that is 
simpler. We have royal courts here, who will be 
glad to give ear to your complaints. Tell me 
frankly, Edward,” he beamed affably, “did you 
take this man’s ship, as a pirate?” 

“Indeed no, Governor. His boat, wholly dis¬ 
mantled by the storm, was legitimate salvage; 
beside that, in violating most of the Acts of Navi¬ 
gation-” 

“How your words dispel the clouds of ill rumor, 
Edward! I am immensely relieved.” He turned 
to Elton smilingly. “You hear what the good, 
modest fellow has to say for himself, Captain. 
Take my counsel, sir, and cultivate his friend¬ 
ship.” 





ASHORE 


249 


“Well, of all the-” 

“Governor,” Teach paid no more attention to 
the disgruntled commander, “here are others who 
seek you—the Countess of Westport, and her 
ward, Mistress Folly Leigh.” 

“We are indeed graced in your coming!” 

Folly, admiration for Blackbeard mingled with 
her hatred of him, gave him a confused look, and 
curtsied low before the Governor. “One especial 
matter drew me to America, Your Excellency. I 
had a brother—Will Leigh—unlawfully crimped 
out of Bristol, and shipped here on a vessel called 
the Black Nan; and the man who did it was-” 

“Ah, let me think, let me think. . . . Leigh? 
Will Leigh? Surely that is the sturdy youth that 
that peppery Lieutenant Maynard, of Virginia, 
enlisted into His Majesty’s service.” 

“Oh—so Chris has been here, too! Then Will 
is—is safe, you say?” 

“Two weeks ago, here in Raleigh, the Lieuten¬ 
ant found him, fit as a fiddle and fine as a flute. 
You would wish to have word sent to him, I am 
sure. I will see that it is done, and presently. 
Countess,” a stately bow, “I am doubly honored 
in your coming.” 

“And I am inexpressibly relieved, at the good 
news concerning the young maid’s brother.” Her 
curtsey more than equalled his. 

“Ladies, Edward, I am your humble servant. 
May I see you to my simple woodland dwelling? 




250 


FOLLY 


As for you, sir,” he turned coldly upon Captain 
Elton, a the prize court sits at high noon tomorrow. 
I charge you to save any complaints for it, and 
not spill meanwhile any careless words reflecting 
upon any of the loyal servants of His Most Chris¬ 
tian Majesty’s highly Christian colony.” With 
this pompous benediction, he offered his arm to 
the Countess, and led off. 

Folly, with a slant look at Teach, walked beside 
him. So it was that they arrived at the Governor’s 
elegant mansion, a palace largely in the Eliza¬ 
bethan style, nestled under palmettos and live-oaks 
draped in Spanish moss, and with half-naked 
negro slaves lolling on the great verandah. 

There was nothing for Folly to do, but wait 
until word was carried to Will and Chris, and 
until they could return. This would take, she was 
told, a full two weeks. From very boredom, she 
let herself be driven down to the session of the 
prize court, high noon of the next day. 

The three judges, in bank, made short shrift of 
Elton’s case. The ship and its cargo was awarded 
without discussion to Teach, and there was an end 
of it. Folly saw no more of Captain Elton there¬ 
after. 

During the afternoon, she sought out the Gov¬ 
ernor, to get some light on the queer position the 
outlaw filled in his establishment. She located 
him at the harbor, where he watched with satisfac¬ 
tion the quick progress of the flames that were 


ASHORE 251 

burning the Royal James down to the waterline. 

“But—is that necessary?” 

The harsh voice of Teach startled her at her 
elbow. “Dead ships tell no tales,” he chuckled. 

It was not hard to persuade the Governor to let 
her walk back from the harbor with him; and she 
asked frankly as to the strange dispensation that 
made Teach so high in all that was high here. 

“My dear,” the Governor explained in kindly 
solicitude, “we are a long way from Aldgate and 
Westminster; and this is a turbulent land I am set 
to rule over. To the south lie the Spaniards, ever 
pricking on the restless redmen to descend on us 
with the scalping flint and the tomahawk. We 
have runaways from Virginia, from the islands, 
even from New England. Every man is his own 
master here, save the Governor alone; and every 
man feels himself my master. I am bound to all 
their bickers and frets. What am I to do?” 

“But—to collogue with pirates-” 

“My colony, named after the blessed martyr 
whose head fell on Tower Hill, is shot with rivers 
and creeks; and not a one of them but swarms with 
those called pirates. I rule an empire of pirates; 
am I to be the only honest man among them? 
Would the foxes tolerate a hare as their king? 
‘Judge not, that ye be not judged’; so I deem every 
man honest, till a higher word than mine proves 
the reverse. As for Teach, he is the bloodiest vil¬ 
lain unhanged, I verily believe; and withal a fel- 



252 


FOLLY 


low of utter humor and capacity. I love him; 
there is something in me—” he tapped his portly 
chest briskly, “that throbs with all that he does. 
Here I am, then. I cannot fight off a world of 
pirates: they are, I verily believe, more than a 
moiety of my subjects. What would you have me 
do, in such a parlous case?” 

Folly studied his easy-going honesty in some 
doubt. “You must do one thing or the other, I 
should hold—either run the Jolly Roger over the 
Governor’s mansion, or face them down till they 
or you are perished.” 

He made a deprecatory bow. “We are a young 
land, yet, dear lady; too young to run the black 
flag over the house of government. Leave that 
for full-blown civilizations. As for facing the 
miscreants with steel and powder, hang it, they 
have both: and I have small will to sign my own 
death warrant. So I do neither; I ride both horses, 
God lighten my sins. I sleep with the moccasins 
and the field-larks together. Yet hark you my 
way. This Teach is my man, for all his blood¬ 
letting; and, in fair barter, he executes summary 
justice on any other pirates, who dare interfere 
with the good planters of my Carolina. I have 
enlisted the lion’s self, to fend me against the 
wolves and the foxes.” 

“Statecraft is too devious a course, I fear, for 


“Ah, more than statecraft, my child. This 



ASHORE 


253 


swart scoundrel makes my days and nights pass 
more pleasantly. You shall see. Tonight, by the 
by, I am to dine with Squire Ludwell—Gabriel 
Ludwell, richest save one of the planters in my 
bailiwick. Will the Countess and yourself make 
two of our party? It will be coarse, after Lon¬ 
don; but, any oasis in a desert, you know-” 

Folly thanked him for the invitation; and, when 
the Countess pleaded indisposition from the jour¬ 
ney, decided to go, accompanied only by Hannah. 
Soon after they got under way, she was chagrined 
to find the black outlaw riding at her side. A 
query brought out that he was an expected mem¬ 
ber of the party; she rode on with less pleasure 
after that. Must she find him crossing her way 
everywhere she went? 

When they arrived at last at the great mansion 
of Squire Ludwell, the girl was amazed and a 
little shocked to find that they had not been ex¬ 
pected. In fact, the surprised host was already 
entertaining a house full of notables, including 
Sir Francis Catton and a party from Virginia. 
He made the best of it, however; and Folly’s 
observant eyes soon made out that Blackbeard 
and the Governor had done no less than leech 
themselves willy-nilly upon the man. Teach 
called brusquely for what he wished, in the way 
of refreshments; the amplest service, the choicest 
imported brandy, was less than he expected. 

Under the potent touch of the drink, however, 



254 


FOLLY 


he mellowed noticeably. Egged on by Eden’s 
good-natured insistence, and the polite interest of 
Catton and the others, he drifted into reminis¬ 
cences of his own piratical days, and the earlier 
years of the giants of the black gentry. He told 
of the tortures practiced by the southern Indians, 
who made hedgehogs of their Christian captives 
with prickles from the prickle-palm, each bearing 
a wad of cotton soaked in oil; and, as a dessert, set 
these on fire. 

“A true heathen Inquisition,” said Eden bois¬ 
terously; which earned him a glance of hatred 
from a Catholic lady from Maryland. 

Ah, but the Christians were no lambs, Teach 
boasted on. He told of Caribbee slave-owners who 
had beat upwards of a hundred of their slaves to 
death; of gentlemen of fortune who had roasted 
alive their victims for some whim; and who had 
forced all the women of a ravished town, married 
and virginal alike, and burned out the eyes of 
those that resisted. 

Several of the ladies withdrew, upon this 
account; but Folly sat gravely staring at the man, 
for all she was conscious that many of his words 
were sent toward her ear. Her wits busied them¬ 
selves as to what would be the pirate’s end, and 
how she could best bring it about. 

For the night, all of them were quartered in 
Ludwell Hall. Long after she had retired, she 
heard the buccaneer’s loud, harsh voice gabbing 


ASHORE 


255 


on, lording it over his hearers. She fell into a 
troubled slumber at last, as drunken songs took 
the place of the boastful tales. She dreamt clearly 
that she was thicketed in a dense lush forest, and 
felt herself pursued by some great beast. Now 
the two of them were strangely upon a high portico 
tangled in stars, overlooking the faint lights of 
the world; the beast—a great black boar with shin¬ 
ing tusk—charged her, as she stood set, dagger in 
hand, to meet its onrush. He gored at her as she 
struck: she felt the sharp horn only a great hot 
tongue, wondrously soft, and could not tell 
whether her descending blow held dagger to strike, 
or was opened to caress. In this shaken uncer¬ 
tainty she woke, to find morning upon her. 

Later, as she waited the coach for the return, 
Teach swaggered up and presented his host with a 
scrawled paper. 

“What is this, sirrah?” said Ludwell, not deign¬ 
ing to read it. 

“Merely my statement of a defensive levy upon 
your squireship, and a pleasure impost for the 
honor of my company. The total is a hundred 
sovereigns.” 

“It shall not be paid,” Ludwell grated back. 

“Good. Your house will be torched before the 
week ends, I give you my pledge on it.” 

“I cannot pay it, man!” 

“Then you can build another house.” 

At length he yielded to the inflexible extor- 


256 


FOLLY 


tioner; and Teach rode blithely on ahead. Lud- 
well, face inflamed and hardly restrained, turned 
to Eden, who stood enjoying the scene. 

“I had sworn, Charles,” he spoke quietly, albeit 
with an effort, “that the last should be the last time 
I threw open my house to that ungodly fiend. See 
what you have brought upon me!” 

“The other pirates do not bother you, Gab¬ 
riel-” 

“What has he left for them to bother?” He 
spoke with swelling bitterness. “For the last time 
I demand that you shut our coasts to him, if you 
will not have him drawn and quartered—which is 
more than Christian mercy.” 

“Reason extends so far, and no further. He is 
our sea-watch-” 

“Well. If you will not act, there are those 
that will. I am not alone in this insistence, you 
know well-” 

“There is naught I can do, and you know it.” 

“There are others that will act, then.” 

“I am vicar of the noble owners in my Caro¬ 
lina-” 

“And there are majesties above you, and above 
the drunken owners,” said Ludwell hotly. “I bid 
you good day.” 

Eden rode away, no whit troubled by the cloudy 
threat. “They take his exactions hardly, Mistress 
Folly; but the choler will die, and they will be 
grateful to Edward Teach in the end. Tomorrow 






ASHORE 


257 


night we ride to my own neighborhood, along the 
Chowan. May I show you that country as well?” 

“Teach goes along?” 

“But surely!” 

“I thank Your Excellency for the thoughtful¬ 
ness. But the long trip—a general fatigue-” 

He bowed, unruffled. Nor did Folly accom¬ 
pany the Governor on that night, or thereafter, as 
long as Blackbeard was in the colony. Better 
immure herself like a nun, than share the con¬ 
tagion of his society. It was evil enough to live in 
the same house with him, indeed, the same world 
with him. Oh, if Chris were only here—or Will: 
either of them would know what to do. She could 
not strike him down in cold blood, though she 
would have dared the attempt, for all his formid¬ 
able name. But somehow there must be a way by 
which she could engineer his destruction. 

And then, one morning, he was missing from the 
Governor’s table. 



CHAPTER XVI 
News from Virginia 

A guarded query to one of the members of the 
Governor’s staff let Folly know that Blackbeard 
had taken to the sea again. She breathed more 
freely. It had been two full weeks now, and no 
word had come from the loved two in Virginia— 
her brother, and her plain-spoken young protector 
along the London road. She began to fidget at the 
lack of word; the Governor teased her by his 
silence, when she asked him of them. 

Three more days passed, and the girl was almost 
frantic at the lack of news. 

“If I do not hear by tomorrow,” she cornered 
the colonial official as he came in from riding, “I 
shall take horse and make for Virginia myself.” 

“The project is a fair one,” and Eden eyed her 
twinklingly. “But I have news at last.” 

Her hands clenched on her breast, then clasped 
his arm in entreaty. “Tell me—do not twist my 
heart with this further suspense!” 

“There are travellers in the parlor from Vir¬ 
ginia,” said His Excellency casually, “who bring 
some word.” 

Folly turned, vexed profoundly at his keeping 
her thus on tenterhooks. She raced down the hall 
258 


NEWS FROM VIRGINIA 


259 


toward the room—she would have news of her 
own at last! Then something stilled her steps: 
what if the news were not good news? Heart flut¬ 
tering with uncertainty, she pushed wide the door, 
and entered. 

The room was curtained heavily; in the obscur¬ 
ity she saw three men at the farther end, in earnest 

talk. Which of them- Her eyes strained wide 

in unbelief: those shoulders looked familiar-■ 

“Chris!” 

At the cry of joy, he swung to meet her; she 
could not refrain from hurling herself into his 
arms. “My dear Chris! How wonderful to see 
you again. They merely told me— Any news 
of—?” 

The slighter man beside him had come up un¬ 
noticed. “Any greeting for me?” 

It was Will, after all these months. She dis¬ 
entangled herself in a flurry from the first impet¬ 
uous embrace, and caught him into her arms. 
Then she pushed him back, and held him off for 
a careful scrutiny. 

“Why, you’ve grown into a man, Will, in less 
than a year! You’re taller, taller than I, and 
heavier—your face is more sober-” 

“No one but a man could have lived through 
what the boy had to suffer,” said Maynard simply. 

“You’ll have him tell you all the long story-” 

He stopped abruptly, then blurted out, “My, but 
you are a vision!” 






260 


FOLLY 


“The city rose, pining in the country air,” she 
deprecated demurely. 

“How did you leave Westport and the rest of 
England? I heard of your splendid words with 
the King-” 

“Pish, ’twas less than you did.” 

“Did you get the news you sought?” The Gov¬ 
ernor, eyes crinkling, stood in the door. 

Will stepped forward with a bow. “I cannot 
thank you enough, sire, for the care you took of 
my sister.” 

“No man living could do less than his utmost.” 
The Governor’s face altered its glance of admira¬ 
tion at the girl, to harden a trifle. “Now, touching 
the matter you spoke of-” 

Maynard gestured toward Folly briefly. “Should 
the girl be excused?” 

Eden shook his head decisively. “She’s twice 
the man you or I am, Lieutenant. Nor have we 
any secrets in Carolina councils. Let her stay. 
Touching this complaint against Captain Edward 
Teach-” 

“Call him Blackbeard, or the fiend, or what you 
will, and be done with it,” interrupted Will 
sharply. “A captain of pirates, collogued with the 
Governor of His Majesty’s overseas dominions!” 

“You see,” the Governor turned in mock dis¬ 
may to Folly, “they come at me at once, in this 
uncivil fashion, against my own chief of the sea- 
watch.” 





NEWS FROM VIRGINIA 


261 


“More shame to you, sire,” said Chris sternly. 
“When the complaints of your own best citizens 
go unheard, and they have to appeal to His Excel¬ 
lency of Virginia-” 

“Alex Spottswood has much on his hands, to 
give ear to every stray gust of gossip exhaled by 
some worthless wastrel!” 

“Governor Eden, you cannot hide the foul mat¬ 
ter behind scoffing words. The complaint is uni¬ 
versal ; and I bear you more than Governor Spotts- 
wood’s request that you preserve order in your 
dominions, and rid them of this pestilential fel¬ 
low.” 

“I had as well turn Mexican, and eat dog, as 
turn on my friend. But out with your word, young 
man. 

“Either execute summary justice at once upon 
this Teach, or-” 

Will Leigh cut in, with sparkling ardor: “Or 
Virginia will see to it that the scoundrel is hung as 
high as her tallest pine-top!” 

Eden drew back a step; his lips curled. “I par¬ 
don your plenitude of zeal, young sprig, for your 
plenitude of youth. You prate mere blether: any 
zany knows that each colony is sovereign within 
its own borders, and no farther.” 

“This is the word of Governor Spottswood,” 
said Maynard bleakly. “Unless you pledge him 
your name that you will satisfy these bitter mur¬ 
murs, he will rid the coast and the seas of this 




262 FOLLY 

blackguardly vermin, and now, upon his own 
motion.” 

“And if I refuse to stand idly by, and see my 
own man persecuted by this bystanding dandy 
from Virginia-” 

“The worse for you, Charles Eden of Edenton, 
if you value your peace and your pate.” 

The Governor’s face worked heavily; an out¬ 
right quarrel seemed inevitable. Folly was all on 
fire to see the scene through; meditating how much 
better she could have conducted it than either the 
testy, courteous Governor or his zealous young 
opponents. 

But Eden did not speak. Instead, he took a 
slow turn about the room, stepping with heavy 
precision. When he came before them again, 
there was a strained smile on his face. “I am 
sure that Governor Spottswood will repent of this 
uncivil word. I send him my kindest greet- 
ings.” 

“And—and that is all?” marvelled Maynard. 

“All.” Eden’s face hardened into stone. “And 
I warn the man who meddles with Ed Teach to 
think twice and once again, before he crosses the 
tallest man this side of the Atlantic, if not in all 
Christendom. He is no puppy, to be drowned in 
a sack, I warn you.” 

“Pharaoh of Egypt was no puppy, yet for all 
that the Red Sea did not spare him,” said Will 
grandly. 



NEWS FROM VIRGINIA 


263 


“He had no Queen Anne’s Revenge ,” said the 
Governor drily. 

At this retort Folly laughed, and the spell of the 
altercation was shattered abruptly. With much 
civility the Governor pressed the young messen¬ 
gers to stay for the evening meal. 

After the ample dinner, the three reunited ones 
sat on the great verandah, drinking in the balmy 
Carolina air, as they told over what had transpired 
during the long separation. When they were all 
satisfied, Folly answered Chris’s impatience, by 
sending Will off on a complicated errand for her. 
When her brother was gone, and the two of them 
were at last alone, a quietness fell upon them. 
Folly sensed what must be said; and, for all that 
she did not know how she would answer his im¬ 
portunities, she did not flinch from the utterance 
of the problem. 

His voice was low when at length he spoke. “It 
is the same moon,” he said soberly, “that shone 
over Bristol Gorge, the night you first came under 
the roof that sheltered me. We have travelled a 
long way from Bristol, Folly.” 

She meditated, without answer. 

His voice, stronger now, flowed on. “We are 
out of favor now with those who hold the reins of 
the world.” After a pause, “Both of us.” 

“We hold the reins of our own world, Chris, or 
we are unworthy to cumber it.” 

“My world cannot be another world from yours. 


264 FOLLY 

I have seen you constantly before me, every league 
of the long sea way.” 

“I believe you,” she said somberly. “But I 

have not seen you so, Chris- Not that another 

face has meant anything to me. I love slowly, it 
may be.” 

“Men love from the eyes; women from the soul. 
Our desire goes inward; yours must push its way 
from the heart of hearts. I will burrow in to meet 
yours, if you will come outward ever so little 
toward me-” 

“Oh, Chris, if I could only know my own mind! 
Ah, but I do, on one matter. How wholly I am 
yours, in your brave effort to stamp out that vil¬ 
lain who took Will from me.” 

“I did not tell the all to the Governor,” he 
explained in eager confidence. “I myself am to 
go after him, I trust, in two sloops, if Eden does 
not yield!” 

“You luckiest of mortals! And Will-” 

“Goes too. Nothing could keep him away.” 

“I have a recruit for you-” 

“Good!” 

Very quietly she smiled it out: “—Myself.” 

“Where do these madcap notions come from, 
most adorable of women! It’s impossible, of 
course.” 

“Nothing in life is impossible, Chris, if the will 
is there.” 

He shook his head soberly. “Time will cure 






NEWS FROM VIRGINIA 


265 


that philosophy. Seek any goal, and you will win 
something, but rarely the goal you bend toward. 
Bethink yourself! We are in the King’s navy, 
Folly, on the King’s business; it is unthinkable to 
take you along.” 

“Disguised as a man-” 

“Mad, mad, mad!” 

“Chris,” she shook a worried head, “sometimes 
I almost hate you for your complacent certainty. 
What are laws for, if not to be broken by those 
who shine across the crest of the world? I tell 
you I hate that man with a hatred that will last his 
life out. I will be there, that I know,” she leaned 
forward tensely, “when his life ends. How, then, 
can you refuse me?” 

“Beloved Folly, how can I do aught else?” 

“This is your last word?” 

“There is no other possible.” 

“Well- But I will be there, have no doubt.” 

“What do you mean?” 

She laughed in soft confusion. “I am not 
wholly sure myself. Sometimes determinations 
speak themselves, before the means is born. But 
it will come to light. Oh, Chris, Chris, how can 
Governor Eden tolerate him a day?” 

“Worse than that, Teach can never hold faith 
with Eden, or any man. He tricked his own crew 
out of their vile gains, soon after I came to the 
colonies—beached his own ship on Topsail Inlet 
of a purpose, and made off in a sloop with the 




266 


FOLLY 


treasure, with the men marooned behind. Later, 
he secured his ship again. He is a vast mountain 
of cruelty and bloodshed and treachery. Let you 
face such a man? Folly, I love you too deeply—” 

“When he is no more man, then, dear Chris, tell 
your love to me; I will have room in my heart 
then to listen to it. Now hate crowds the very 
walls. At least this—may I go to Virginia with 
you and Will?” 

“If you wish to, yes: we leave tomorrow, and 
take ship at once against the pirate. We would 
have to leave you behind, there. . . . Or, when 
we have rid the seas of him, we will come get vou 
here.” 

Her mind flashed another decision. “Here I 
wait, then, my lord: and, with all my hatred in the 
scale with you, you cannot fail!” 

On the morrow, after this brief and unsatisfac¬ 
tory reunion, the two travellers rode off again for 
their return to Virginia. Folly’s last request to 
Chris, that he reconsider his denial, had achieved 
nothing; she did not show it in her farewell, but 
she was storming within. 

No sooner had they passed out of sight than she 
secured a saddle horse, and, accompanied by one 
of the Governor’s attendants, rode off toward the 
south. When she was out of sight of the houses, 
which was soon enough, she put her horse at a 
gallop, careless whether her escort kept up or not. 
Mile after mile she made in this fashion, while the 


NEWS FROM VIRGINIA 


267 


man followed her like a shadow. She bade her 
mind go blank, to relieve her of the ignominy of 
remembering how her will had been thwarted. 

At last the road tapered off to a way through 
the vast forest of long-leaf pine that stretched 
southward as if endlessly. The keener sting worn 
off now, she let the horse pick his own way, while 
her thoughts came in some order. 

Why was she not satisfied, since this well- 
manned expedition was starting to end the bloody 
sea-scourge? It was not fair to her, first of all. 
She was shrewder than Will, that she knew; more 
daring, or, at least, more able to take care of her¬ 
self in a tight situation. She was more daring 
than Chris. And because she was a woman, of all 
silly reasons, what was their right was denied her 
wholly. Blackbeard preyed on women, as on men; 
why, in the name of fairness, was a woman mured 
away from the red scorpion of retribution? 

That was not all, nor the half of it. They knew 
little of Teach: Chris had never seen him, Will 
had only known him in the crimps’ den in Bristol. 
She had been cooped on the same boat with him, 
had seen him in his daily dealings with the Gov¬ 
ernor, at his night’s revel with the unwilling 
planters. Especially on shipboard, with his men 
and in that tense encounter in the cabin, she had 
studied his quickness of wit, his ruthless disregard 
of all the points of honor that badged the gentle¬ 
man—at least, the gentle breed that she dreamed 


268 


FOLLY 


of. She alone knew what was to be faced and 
conquered: they, unarmed by her first-hand knowl¬ 
edge, were children playing with culverin. It was 
unfair, unfair! 

What could she do? Provoke a quarrel now, as 
soon as each returned to port, and so prevent his 
meeting the royal navy? But—in single combat, 
there was no surety that she could overcome the 
pirate’s immense strength and quickness. One 
did not fight forest fire with a lady’s fan. With 
a revolver she might meet him: again, she was a 
tyro, he an expert, at this. 

She left the problem to simmer within her, and 
turned her troubled blue eyes to the marvelous 
Carolina valley she was passing through. Her 
horse came to a slight river, perhaps a creek, and 
commenced to ford it daintily. Folly stopped him 
midway, to drink in the wonder of the scene. The 
waterway was cloaked from the immensity of the 
piny woods by a thick matting of live oak, sweet 
gum, and bald cypress, looped and festooned with 
that fantastic drapery she had heard called Span¬ 
ish moss. At the base of the tree-boles were masses 
of mountain-laurel and swamp azalea in their late 
blooming; vast green sunbursts of the great cin¬ 
namon fern crouched below these, and on the 
strange sward between the fern and the double- 
crested cat-tails were strange small flowers writh¬ 
ing, and, indeed, hued like red-bellied snakes. 

She rode the horse straight up the right bank, 


NEWS FROM VIRGINIA 


269 


crash through a great thicket of laurel. Behind 
her she heard the protesting sigh of her attendant, 
hard at his reluctant following. 

After a brief stretch of piny woods, she sud¬ 
denly turned the horse’s head toward the right, and 
made in a straight line for the settlement—not 
following the curving way she had come, but in 
the line of a crow’s dark flight. Why she had 
started back, she did not know for a moment: and 
then the conviction grew upon her that she had 
found the answer; that she knew, or held just 
below knowing, what she must do. An intuition, 
perhaps, whirling in dislocated fashion just be¬ 
hind clear vision—this had come to her. She 
would see it soon, that she knew. 

Again she drew up above the stream she had 
crossed—but it was a wide stretch here, with no 
ford. 

At the moment that the stream appeared, 
she suddenly saw clearly, for the first time, the 
wild way in which she would do what she willed to 
Blackbeard, in spite of all the Wills and Chris 
Maynards in the world! Her heart was jubilant: 
she set her horse at a run down the slope, bidding 
him jump the expanse of waters. 

Sharply he turned, at the water’s edge, and 
smashed into a copse of fox-grapes, sumach, briers 
and what not. Eyes flashing furiously, she backed 
him back upon the way, and prepared to set him 
at the water again. 


270 


FOLLY 


“You can’t make it,” said her silent guard 
firmly. 

“Why not?” 

“You—a lady-” 

The day, to her half-closed eyes, turned scarlet 
shot with black. “You will see,” she gritted out. 

This time she galloped the horse down the bank 
with a punishing tenseness of rein. She edged 
forward, till her head lay against the horse’s, and 
she was almost upon his neck. “Do it!” she 
ordered fiercely, pulling back sharply on both 
reins at the very moment that the horse started to 
turn again. 

For a moment he trembled, as if about to refuse: 
then, making the most of what was expected of 
him, he sprang from the yielding turf into the air. 
As the steed, muscles tense, left the earth and trod 
the air, her heart almost broke with the loveliness 
of the place and of the deed half done. She might 
fail, but, God witness, she had tried! There was 
a bewildering kaleidoscope of bickering water 
frothing over great smooth black stones, of pebbles 
and green reeds, of the bank rising up to meet her, 
and then the horse had landed. For a moment he 
trembled, all four hoofs delicately poised on the 
edge of the farther bank. Then the bank itself 
crumbled beneath his feet. 

One wild lunge placed his front feet in a further 
niche of safety; his back legs clawed dreadfully 
at the moist gray earth. It happened too quickly 



NEWS FROM VIRGINIA 


271 


for thought: one moment she knew that she was 
falling, falling to the wet uncertainty beneath; the 
next, with a mighty heave, almost throwing her 
over the horse’s head, to which she was clinging 
for very life, the horse completed the leap, and 
stumbled to his knees on firm soil. 

Wholly shaken by the experience, she slid off 
the saddle, and cooed encouragement to the fright¬ 
ened animal. Panting, he rose to his feet. At this 
moment the other horse, with serene unconcern on 
the face of its rider, made the leap that had almost 
ended her. 

Her smile of astonishment met his slow, 
friendly grin. “You made it,” she said. 

“I’m a man,” he explained. Then, as if wiping 
this out of his memory, “But you made it.” 

She rode slowly back to the settlement, her head 
whirling far above earth. She had done it: and 
at the moment she dared it, she knew that this 
was a test. If she could do this leap, she could 
do the wilder exploit that she had in mind. Oh, 
it was insane, dangerous in the highest degree— 
folly in the highest. But she had made the leap: 
she would dare that other! 


CHAPTER XVII . 

The Black Sloop Sails 

For a few days Folly went about in a dreamy 
state, perfecting her plans. Teach was still away; 
yet time would be, soon enough, when he returned; 
and she must be ready. Then the morning came 
when he returned. A shrewd placing of gold kept 
her informed of his plans: in three days, she 
learned, he went to sea again. Little enough time 
to finish what she wanted; yet, with the aid of 
Hannah, she accomplished it. Bundles of queer 
sizes were conveyed by stealth into her room, odd 
purchases were made in odder places. 

The day before he was to sail, Folly spent 
indoors, closeted with Hannah, strangely busied. 

About dusk, a figure, obviously that of a rather 
slender youth, slipped out of the Governor’s man¬ 
sion, and walked rapidly away in the direction of 
the harbor. The few encountered in the gloom 
were struck by the swarthy tan of the face, the 
leather skullcap with its pert peak in front pulled 
low over the forehead, the faded linen shirt and 
blood-dyed drawers, the sandals and leggings of 
bull’s hide, hair worn outward, and even the brace 
of pistols hung from a bandolier above the ancient 
cutlass. Those who passed gave the youthful fig- 
272 


THE BLACK SLOOP SAILS 


273 


ure a wide berth: clearly, this was one of the ill- 
favored pirate gentry, returning from his evil 
business with the Governor to his blood-stained 
decks. 

With an insolent swagger, the figure lounged up 
to the crew of the beached jolly-boat that belonged 
to the Queen Anne’s Revenge . “Cap’n Teach 
aboard?” In a brusque query of command. 

“Down at the Black Imp —the sloop,” a man 
answered civilly, pointing to a smaller vessel, ship- 
rigged, riding at anchor nearer the shore. 

“Row me over,” in a crisper order. “He ex¬ 
pects me.” 

The man’s respect increased. Unhesitatingly 
he slid his solitary oar into its stern rowlock, and 
beckoned the other to take the bow seat. “He’s 
sailin’ tomorrer, ain’t he?” in an eager attempt to 
secure further information. 

“At sunup. So he said.” 

The man sculled with powerful strokes through 
the tangle of shipping, and came within close hail 
of the Black Imp. He raised his voice in a sing¬ 
song. “Cap’n aboard? Man to see him.” 

“There’s the ladder,” from an invisible voice 
above. 

A small coin, gratefully received by the emer¬ 
gency ferryman, and the figure had clambered up 
the rope ladder, and was on the decks of the sloop. 
A huddle of men sprawled against the starboard 
backstays. 


274 


FOLLY 


“Where’s Teach?” 

“In his cabin, I suppose. Reckon he’s on the 
mizzen-top?” 

Paying no attention to the careless jibe, eager 
steps hastened to the cabin. Without ceremony 
the door was flung open, and the brusque young 
voice stabbed out again. “You’re Teach. Good. 
My name’s Hal Sawkins. What’s the chance of 
joining your crew? I learn you’re to sail soon—” 

Teach, his coat off, pistols laid aside, pushed 
by the flagon of brandy on the table, and stared 
for a long silence at the young face fronting him. 
“Your name’s Hal Sawkins, you say?” 

“Ay.” 

“Where from, maybe?” 

“A bloody Lancashire man I were. Crimped to 
Barbados. Sailed to Virginia. Wanted there by 
the Governor—I had to lay out a man. Borrowed 
a horse, an’ came to Carolina. Now I’m here.” 

“Sawkins—a good name for a gentleman of 
fortune; it was at Puebla Nueva old Brandy 
Sawkins was killed, weren’t it? You know our 
Articles?” 

“About what they be, I know.” 

“Quartermaster’ll tell ’em over to you. These 
I’m strict on: No prey, no pay. Every man equal, 
at voting or sharing, except lawfully elected offi¬ 
cers. No gaming at cards or dice for money. 
Lights out after the second dog-watch; any drink¬ 
ing after that to be done on open deck. No boy or 


THE BLACK SLOOP SAILS 275 

woman allowed on board. Will you follow these, 
Hal Sawkins—all of ’em?” 

‘Til do a man’s best-” 

Teach smiled affably. “For minor offenses, we 
slit the ears and nose of the guilty, and maroon 
them; the man who brings a woman on board is 
fitly altered; and the woman is the captain’s, to 
use as foul as he will. After such an one has had 
her turn served, she is usually killed the Portu- 
gee way, or else tortured redman-fashion. You 
choose to agree to this?” 

The swarthy face staring back at Blackbeard’s 
did not alter. “I came to join you.” 

“Well, Hal Sawkins, here’s many a thousand 
pounds to your share, and girls to spoil in every 
port! There,” a fumbling gesture indicated the 
flagon, “wet your pipes in pledge. Brewed brim¬ 
stone, eh? A man’s drink. ... Go give your 

name to the Quartermaster-” 

“Hands?” asked the other, incautiously. 
“Israel Hands is no more man of mine. See 
Batt Roberts, and have him start you.” 

So it was that Folly Leigh joined the crew of 
Edward Teach, the night before the Black Imp 
sailed. She knew that she took her name in her 
hands, and her life as well; but with the gate shut 
by Chris Maynard, she saw no other way to do 
what she must against the pirate chieftain. This 
was a new Folly Leigh: hair snipped man-fashion, 
her whole body stained with the juice of the wal- 




276 


FOLLY 


nut, she felt that nothing could give her away. 
She would sleep, of course, in all her clothes, as 
the other pirates did; only the wildest accident 
could reveal her. A dirk, swinging on a cord be¬ 
neath her shirt, would be her final answer, if that 
occurred. 

Down the sluggish Pamlico at sunup the sloop 
sailed quietly. Nothing stirred upon the waters, 
except an occasional pelican or teal. At Marsh 
Point Teach and three others went ashore. After 
half a day, he came back with the others, carry¬ 
ing himself a bundle wrapped in stained canvas 
under his arm. 

She watched the captain as he slung the bundle 
to one of the seamen, and bade him fix it fast to 
the bow. Folly was called back to help raise the 
main royal. Curiosity drove her to see what new 
figurehead Blackbeard had secured while ashore. 
She looked casually over the railing, the first 
chance she got; her heart almost stopped for a 
moment, as she saw what hung there, still drip¬ 
ping red mementoes against the b<?w—a human 
head, newly severed. 

A good thing she was facing forward, or her 
swift disorder would have been observed. For a 
voice came from just behind her: “Sawkins-” 

She turned slowly, to meet Teach’s slow, sneer¬ 
ing gaze. “A little lesson in the Articles. That 
man deserted the Queen Anne’s Revenge two 
months ago. They caught him, and held him for 



THE BLACK SLOOP SAILS 277 

me here. A cutlass makes a clean job, doesn’t 
it?” 

“It betters an army sword,” Folly retorted, back 
in her role of pirate. 

As she passed aft, she told herself that she must 
school her fancies more. So troubled was she at 
the necessity for constantly guarding her secret, 
that she was becoming obsessed with the idea that 
Teach had a suspicion of the matter. She knew 
it was only her fancy: yet such fancies, unchecked, 
could breed what they feared. 

So she reasoned away her worry. Yet the im¬ 
pression grew still on her that he stared at her a 
trifle too knowingly, whenever he looked her way. 
She had watched his gaze on others, and had noted 
nothing of the same cryptic twinkle. Only her 
imagination, she reminded herself sharply. She 
must not let it make her so nervous that she be¬ 
trayed herself, by some quick, false motion. 

The sloop beat easily down the Carolina coast, 
taking advantage of the island breakwaters guard¬ 
ing Core and Bogue Sounds, and only coming out 
into the bay at Bogue Inlet. Once in Onslow Bay, 
a gentle head wind compelled her to tack in lei¬ 
surely fashion past the numerous inlets of the 
coast. As Topsail Inlet was neared and passed, 
Folly sensed the mutterings of the crew. For all 
that the sloop’s lessened company was hand picked 
hy the captain, the sight of the spot where he had 
violated the Articles so flagrantly reminded them 


278 


FOLLY 


that, as he had done, he might well do again. 
Roberts himself led a group who slouched into 
Teach’s cabin, where Folly and another young 
seaman sat with him at cards—for sport merely, 
remembering the Articles. Egged on by Roberts, 
these men raided the brandy chest, as was their 
right, while Teach looked on sullenly. 

When they lurched out, half drunk, to the deck 
again, he turned bitterly to the girl. “So it is 
when the mob rules, Sawkins: the king is gelded.” 

He sat morosely drinking, paying small heed 
to the fall of the cards. From time to time he 
spat out some hatred of the crew’s rule. “They 
would depose me, if they dared,” he growled 
twice. After a long pause, “Unless a king is the 
fiend enfleshed, they will always depose him. 
Charley lost his head,” he wept into his brandy; 
and again sorrowfully, “Poor Charley lost his 
head. I were ever a Jacobite,” he apologized 
vaguely. 

“Others lost their heads for that deed,” the 
young seaman consoled. 

“If I had my will,” the Captain chuckled hor¬ 
ridly, “I would call all hands on deck, and at 
one flail of my cutlass sever the heads from the 
bodies, and ride back to port with these trophies 
stretching from fore-truck to mizzen. Let the 
hands run the ship then; they have no need o’ 
heads—empty as they are.” 

“Not our heads,” said Folly playfully. 


THE BLACK SLOOP SAILS 


279 


“Yours first of all; yours first of all. Yours 
I shall take, Sawkins, in good time, as my name’s 
hell-hound!” 

“You must be a fiend,” and the youngest sea¬ 
man crossed himself hurriedly. 

Teach started abruptly from his seat, kicking 
his stool back against the wall. With one sweep 
of his arm, he sent cards, candle, counters flying, 
driven against the wall of the cabin. He backed 
against the wall, his teeth unfleshed, his face grim¬ 
acing terribly: he looked more than insane—like 
some dreadful, mindless monster of destruction. 

“I am the fiend—and this is Hell!” he shrieked 
suddenly. Batting the two others to right and 
left, he strode for the deck, bending and swaying 
his body from bulwark to bulwark. “Hell! 
Hell!” he roared wildly aloud. “Who’ll follow 
Ed Teach into hell now?” 

A knot of pirates gathered in amazement around 
him. “You say I am the black one,” he grinned 
evilly at them, “and I shall make a little hell in 
the hold, and see how long you can bear it. 
Who’ll descend into hell with me—for three days, 
or three years? You, Batt Roberts?” 

The man’s face showed that he feared a trap; 
but he spoke up sturdily enough. “I’ll go where 
you go, Ed Teach, an’ further.” 

“You, Mackett? You, Will Rose—” picking 
out two more of the ringleaders of the party who 
had raided the brandy. 


280 


FOLLY 


None dared refuse his taunted challenge. At 
his direction, the Quartermaster brought several 
huge pots filled with brimstone, oils, and other 
slow-burning matter. 

“Farewell,” he shrieked to the others, as he 
herded his reluctant victims down the ladder. 
“We go into hell—the chief fiend and his imps.” 
There was the sound of the hatches being closed 
from below, and then a silence. 

“Good riddance—if all the bloody fools die,” 
grunted one man. 

“Not Teach,” the young seaman crossed him¬ 
self again. “The devil can’t.” 

There was still the strange hush from below. 
Then the first wisp of smoke, and another, and 
another, seeped up through the small cracks beside 
the unbattened hatches. Soon a dense cloud of 
oily smoke poured up, sending those above cough¬ 
ing and sputtering back from the place. 

“What must it be below!” 

“He’ll set the Imp on fire, the brainless card.” 

“Can hell burn?” said a cynical old veteran, 
rubbing the spot where his left eye had once 
been. 

There was still quietness from the imprisoned 
men—a silence broken at last by choked cries 
for air, and a sound of fists hammering against 
wood. None dared go near to release them. 
“Let ’em die,” said the old seaman pleasantly. 
“We’ll ’lect a new Cap’n—an’, if this hell-craft 


THE BLACK SLOOP SAILS 281 

does burn, we’ll find another gladly, to be rid of 
that foul ’un.” 

The noise from below had subsided: Folly knew 
at last that all of them must be suffocated. So 
Blackbeard was dead at last, dead of his own 
folly, and she, and not Chris and Will, had been 
up when the kill was made! 

Then there was a mighty heave, and the hatch 
came flying. Out of the dull red heart of the 
black-mouthed volcano climbed a great gaunt, 
grimed figure, laughing sardonically, immoder¬ 
ately. “Eh, who is the devil now, I says! When 
the smoke clears off, tote those hulks up on deck, 
an’ douse ’em with bilge water. If they’ve gone, 
heave ’em over. The only devil aboard the Black 
Imp is Edward Teach—an’ I’ll keelhaul the man 
as says he ain’t!” 

This lesson hushed all open revolt; although 
Folly detected subdued mutterings on many sides. 
When at last the sloop reached Cape Fear, with 
still no prey in sight, Teach himself seemed uncer¬ 
tain which way to go. For half a day they lolled 
back and forth. And all the time Folly quietly 
fanned the embers of dissatisfaction among the 
crew, and, when she was with Teach, led him 
subtly into sailing northward. 

They anchored at last behind Smith’s Island, to 
mend the riggings. In the lull Blackbeard sig¬ 
nalled Folly into his cabin again. “What say you, 
Sawkins? Southward, or beat back?” 


282 


FOLLY 


“I don’t know these waters, Cap’n; but I see no 
sail here, an’ that’s a fact.” 

“And there is something to the north’ard, eh? 
I wonder what it mout be, now? Ye’ve talked 
north’ard since you came aboard, Sawkins. You 
know the old jig- 

In the South 
A filled mouth; 

In the North 
Death goes forth. 

Well, north’ard we go, Sawkins, at your word.” 
He roared to the boatswain. “Pipe all hands to 
quarters—an’ yaw her yarely north’ard. We go 
where the gold is, men-” 

Three rousing cheers greeted the longed-for 
change. But Folly could not answer the order— 
the huge bulk of Teach filled the cabin doorway 
wholly, and threw her into momentary darkness. 
“I wonder why you choose the north’ard so, Saw¬ 
kins? Well, time will come round, time will come 
round.” He slung himself again on his chest. 
“Sawkins, did you ever spoil a woman?” 

Folly blenched a little at the query. “Only once, 
Cap’n. In Lunnon it were—-she was a doxy any¬ 
how, I’ve always thought.” 

“Might she come back to ha’nt you, now?” 

“Not she; she suffered no whit from it.” 

“Ay. When they suffer, Sawkins, it’s diff’runt, 
diff’runt. I’ve spoiled my tale of ’em. Was a girl 




THE BLACK SLOOP SAILS 


283 


was slipped aboard by one o’ the crew at Havana 
once. We set him ashore on one o’ the Dry Tor- 
tugas; her they give me, the crew did. It’s Articles. 
’Twas the cabin on the Queen Anne's Revenge 
I got her in; an’ she fell on her knees an’ raised 
her pretty arms to me, she did, an’ volunteered 
to do what I would. If you was a woman, you 
wouldn’t ’a’ done that, eh, Sawkins? Now would 
you?” 

Folly stared at him straightly. “Not me, 
Cap’n.” 

“No. Well, I pricked her in the shoulder with 
my cutlass, an’ told her I must have her against 
her will. This cutlass, yes. ... So I had her. 
After I’d used these hands on her neck,” he flexed 
and unflexed his brutal paws with a significant 
smile, “I threw her body on deck, and left the 
sailors to heave it over. I think they did, a day 
or so later.” 

“You’re cruel, Cap’n.” 

“Cruel, eh? Women think so, Sawkins. She 
come back—come back, I tell you, at midnight, 
an’ stood beside my bunk, all bare an’ bloody. 
‘I ha’ come to ha’nt you, Teach,’ she told me. An’ 
me—what did I do?” He paused a moment, and 
chuckled at the grisly thought. “What did I do, 
lad?” 

“You—you weren’t afraid?” 

“No. I’ll tell ye what I did. I did to her shade 
what I’d done to the flesh. She came no more. 


284 FOLLY 

God fend the female, flesh or spirit, that comes 
near Ed Teach!” 

“Ah, we pirates are all alike, eh, Cap’n? Death 
to men, joy to women, eh?” 

“Joy to women—I must make a note of that, an’ 
use it. Ah, joy to women—that’s our way!” 

She left him at last, still deep in his brandy. 
The sloop bent ever to the north; within half an 
hour, he had come forth and ordered all the guns 
to be got in readiness. They rounded Cape Look¬ 
out this time, and made toward Whalebone Inlet. 
That night they anchored near shore, and long 
before day were on the way again. Somewhere to 
the north, she knew, was His Majesty’s fleet, bear¬ 
ing Chris and Will southward against the bloody 
pirate: she determined to keep her eyes wide, do 
what she could to force the meeting, and stand by 
to deal what blow she could on the King’s side— 
or, rather, on Chris’s side. 

As Ocracoke Point was reached, the lookout 
called out, “Sail ho, cornin’ from the inlet. Two 
sails—sloops-” 

Folly quickened in interest at this. Now, at 
last, she would see the pirates in action against 
some defenseless prey. It would be novel. She 
leaned over the railing, straining her eyes to see 
what manner of craft came toward them, to black 
doom. 

She started slightly, as the voice of Teach spoke 
just at her shoulder, in a tone so low that only she 


THE BLACK SLOOP SAILS 


285 


could hear it. “If I be not mistook, yon boats hold 
Lieutenant Maynard of His Majesty’s fleet, an’ 
your brother, Mistress Folly Leigh.” 

She closed her eyes in sudden weakness. How 
could he have guessed! Her breasts were forced 
by her agony against the woodwork; but even in 
the moment of utter anguish, she reined herself, 
and at length turned a straight face toward him. 

“So you know, eh?” 

“From the minute you stood in my cabin, with 
your browned face an’ your woman’s walk, I 
knew.” 

“You said nothing-” 

“Does the spider quarrel, when the fly steals 
into the net? The wise man holds his tongue, till 
it be time to speak. It is time now. You are mine, 
Folly Leigh: mine you will remain; and a tooth¬ 
some morsel I’ll find you, I’ve no doubt. Shall I 
serve you as I served that girl the crew delivered 
to me? I wonder, I’ll be frank with you.” 

“I have my dirk in my hand, against my heart. 
One blow, and you lose what you thought to gain.” 

“You will not strike, my lovely girl: you dare 
not. Life is too great to you: you will live through 
all; changed, maybe, but still alive. You’re a 

damned fine-; I’ll wed you lawful, if you say 

the word, an’ go where you will—lording it over 
the seas, or snug in Carolina, or I’ll even brave 
England again. You’re mine: but I give you one 
word now. Is it yes?” 




286 


FOLLY 


She thought with terrific speed. She must post¬ 
pone him somehow, and compass his death. “I 
am a woman, Captain—this is a heavy problem. 

You must give me time-” 

He looked at her searchingly. “You plan delay, 
and intend no,” he decided shrewdly. “Hate bub¬ 
bles in your heart. Well, mine you will be, yes 
or no. When this little slaughter is over, and your 

brother and lover-” 

“Chris Maynard is no lover of mine!” 

“I have read your heart, girl; it’s his blame if 
he isn’t. When they are sunk in the reddened sea, 
I will take your answer, and you too. If these are 
the Panther an’ the Electress Sophie , as I deem 
they be, one volley will sink both, little as they 
guess it! Rotted government ships are small fod¬ 
der for my guns. Then you’ll leap to these arms, 

or, as you leap away- Hark!” 

The lookout’s voice again, “Ship ho! Two of 

George’s sloops: the one in front the Panther -” 

“Ay, the hour is come! Roberts,” he called to 
the surly pirate curtly, “in this short engagement, 
keep a weather eye on the youth Sawkins here. 
He has kin in the King’s ships; at the first hint of 
treachery against me or any of our crew, put him 
in irons, for me to soil later. Now, my lad,” he 
turned brusquely to the shrinking girl, “you’re 
fixed finely; you’d best be loyal to your black lord. 
Boatswain,” his great voice rolled harshly over the 
water, “call all hands to quarters! Man the 






THE BLACK SLOOP SAILS 


287 


guns- Death to the scurvy navy, and the black 

flag forever!” 

Dazed with the suddenness of the altered cir¬ 
cumstances, Folly saw the crew shed its sloth, and 
spring with a cheer into action. The Black Imp 
was headed behind the second of the two naval 
sloops; could Teach plan to run inshore behind 
them? She could see wild excitement on the two 
other ships, excitement and confusion. There was 
—no—yes, it was Chris! She was about to wave 
a frantic greeting, in her all-forgetfulness, when 
Roberts stepped closer. “Better be careful, boy.” 

Teach had cut in so sharply behind the two 
boats, that their guns could hardly be yawed back 
to get the Imp into range. Both of the naval boats 
headed inshore, in order to intercept the pirate. 

At that moment Teach shrilled out another word. 
The Black Imp tacked sharply, running along be¬ 
side the two dishevelled sloops. Her guns com¬ 
manded the decks of both naval boats. Like a raw 
trumpet came Blackbeard’s call: “Fire!” 



CHAPTER XVIII 
Into the Sea 

Governor Spottswood of Virginia, when he 
heard from Chris and Will, was outraged at the 
uncavalierly answer of his brother to the south. 

“We’re just setting out on a ceremonial ride to 
the top of the Blue Ridge; do you two come along. 
My mind, I must confess, is at the moment crowded 
with the Frenchers and their papist tricks. But I 
will ponder how best to answer this insolence from 
Carolina. I see no way but one now, however—” 

“There is but one!” burst out Will Leigh. 

The Governor smiled tolerantly: “If any prob¬ 
lem were that simple! But the best way, perhaps, 
is that I send an armed force from the men of war 
quartered before us, and take or end this foul 
pirate.” 

“Governor! May I-” 

“Peace, peace, Lieutenant! All in good time.” 

The lowlands were a riot of red gold when the 
party set forth on horseback. Soft maples burned 
frantically, sumac and river birch and the deep 
flare of the sour gums warmed the chill November 
air. Even higher the holly and dogwood berries 
echoed the tone. Yet as they mounted, these 
288 



INTO THE SEA 


289 


altered to the golden brown of oaks against the 
somber scarf of oldfield pine and hemlock. 

Above the last of these, on the naked crest itself, 
they halted, with the lovely spread of the valley of 
the Shenandoah spread like sunset below them. 

“Steward, to your task!” 

Goblet after goblet of costly wines were served 
each in party. The health of each member of the 
royal family was drunk, and after each bumper 
a volley was let loose, toward that rugged west 
where even now the French were rebuilding the 
havoc left by Queen Anne’s War. 

The Governor called for a final round: an eter¬ 
nal scattering of the French, and death to the 
pirate who terrorized the English waters to the 
south. 

One by one the glasses were crashed against a 
scored hulk of granite outcrop. “Now we can 
return,” the Governor addressed Maynard in 
friendly fashion. “I know my answer now.” 

It was the night of the twenty-third of Novem¬ 
ber, 1718, when the cavalcade rode into Rich¬ 
mond; and at noon of the next day the Governor, 
in general proclamation, offered a reward of a 
hundred pounds for Blackbeard, dead or alive. 
The captain in charge of the fleet was directed to 
send out a sufficient force to end the menace; and 
the two swift sloops, the Panther and the Electress 
Sophie , were hurriedly fitted out, and, by May¬ 
nard’s especial request, were put under his charge. 


290 


FOLLY 


Will went on the Panther , with the commander; 
and three days later the two ships sailed from 
Hampton Roads. 

Word had come that the pirate was cruising in 
Albemarle Sound. So down the sheltered sea¬ 
board the sloops scudded, their lookouts pricked 
on by the offer of five pounds for the man who 
first sighted the gory enemy. 

There was no sight of hostile sail here; and a 
friendly squatter at Kitty Hawk reported that there 
were pirate craft in the Pamlico. 

As the Sophie led through narrow Croatan 
Sound, Will Leigh sought out his superior. “This 
is the end, I trust, of my long wait,” he observed 
thoughtfully. “Since that night in Bristol, more 
than a year ago now, I have had nothing in mind 
but to repay that bloody villain for his existence 
on this troubled planet.” 

“It is my vow too, Will, since you and Folly 
suffered so from him.” 

“And hers, you tell me. A girl in a sea-fight!” 
He shook his head in masculine pity. 

“I dreamed of her last night, Will. She stood 
at the top of a great rise of steps that stretched 
from the water’s edge like a pile of triumph. 
Down the lane of ships—all taller and nobler than 
the Panther, yet all with colors dipped to us—I 
sailed, and the dripping head of Ed Teach swung 
bravely from my bows. I sprang to the quay, and 
mounted the steps one by one—with great bios- 


INTO THE SEA 


291 


soming rhododendrons and laurels, azaleas and 
bleeding-hearts to right and left of me. I reached 
out my arms to her, as one would grope toward a 
star. And then she smiled, like a star—like the 
moon riding at full out of a rift in a week’s wrack 
of storm clouds; and I fell on my knees, and laid 
my cheeks in her two hands. I—I love her, Will.” 

“I know. So do I. So would I, as you do, if 
she were aught but sister of mine.” 

“This dream meant victory, Will—victory on 
the sea, and, I trust, a dearer victory to follow. 
He was dead in my dream-” 

“But—by contraries-” 

“No,” and Chris smiled sternly. “Dreams go 
by contraries, or not, depending on how we make 
them go. Of course, we’ve still to catch the water 
snake, before we slice off his poll. In the Pam¬ 
lico-” 

“The end is near, Chris. I feel as if I could eat 
raw fiend!” 

“That’s the temper the windy bully cannot face. 
Even money I pass the Sophie with the first gust of 
wind!” 

Sure enough, in the windier stretch of Pamlico 
the commander’s boat drew up abreast of her 
consort, and then passed her. After sailing well 
into Cedar Bay, Maynard decided to make for 
open water, and aimed toward Hatteras. At the 
second opening, Ocracoke Inlet, he decided to 
make passage. 





292 


FOLLY 


Just before they reached the outer mouth, the 
outlook called loudly—“Five pounds, and a craft 
flying the Jolly Roger bears down on us from the 
offing!” 

It was the second time that the reward had been 
claimed; hut a second glance through his glass 
assured Maynard that this was indeed a ship of 
Teach’s flotilla, although it was not the pirate flag¬ 
ship. Teach might or might not be on board—he 
watched more closely. Ah, there in the glass was 
the man himself, unmistakable in spite of the dis¬ 
tance, talking to two of his men upon the fore 
deck. 

“You’re the best shot, Duffin,” in some excite¬ 
ment Chris ordered one of the seamen. “There 
are three men at the bow. Can you pick them 
off?” 

The third of the three pirates stepped close to 
his huge chief, to receive some word. At this fair 
target Duffin shot: but a sudden pitch of the deck 
sent his bullet whistling feebly through the fore 
riggings. 

Maynard grasped the younger man’s arm in 
excitement. “He’s steering behind us, Will, to 
rake our boat abaft with his broadside! We’ll 
turn in too, and meet him gun for gun!” 

A quick command, and the two sloops, the Pan¬ 
ther leading, began to head for the Carolina shore. 

“Stand to the guns!” 

Just at the moment the command to fire trem- 


INTO THE SEA 


293 


bled on Maynard’s lips, the pirate sloop, with an 
indescribably graceful agility, tacked clean to lee¬ 
ward, driving beside and toward the others. Too 
late the order came to meet the surprise manoeuvre. 
While the sails flapped impotently, for the moment 
void of air, the Black Imp let loose her broadside. 

It was the Electress Sophie which caught the 
brunt of the horrid cannonading; but the guns took 
heavy toll on both. There were screams of the 
dying and the crippled all around him, as May¬ 
nard, in desperation, sought to slue his guns into 
position. One quick glance behind showed the 
Sophie listing badly, and practically out of com¬ 
mission. The ensign, sent to report, shouted face 
to face at Maynard: “Twelve dead on the Panther, 
sir.” Even the shout could be heard only by read¬ 
ing the youth’s lips. 

“Ram her,” Maynard ordered curtly, seizing 
the one moment before the pirate craft sailed 
clear. The ship for the first time woke to what 
was demanded of her. Her bow crashed into the 
other’s figurehead, nudging the Imp out of her 
course, and for a slow second mating the two boats. 
Before the inevitable sheer-off, the grappling 
hooks were out, and the two rivals lay locked for 
the death struggle. 

“Out arms, and over!” roared Maynard. Cut¬ 
lass and pistol in hand, he made for the railing. 

But the fiends of hell were quicker, he thought 
desperately, as a leaping turmoil broke first out of 


294 


FOLLY 


the other ship. First of all immense Blackbeard, 
pistol in each hand, lighted matches sputtering in 
his hair, vaulted the double railing as if it had 
been a child’s table. The smoke from the pirate 
fire swirled around him, and magnified him, as if 
he had been a giant or a djinn stretching to heaven. 

His eyes smarting, Maynard dropped to his 
knees, and aimed his piece steadily at the heart of 
the leader, whose right pistol bore on him. The 
two small guns spoke together. Maynard heard 
the bullet hiss beside his head; but—he had hit! 
Blackbeard recoiled sharply, gasped, seemed 
about to fall. Ah, his shot had winged the giant, 
gloated Chris to himself. 

The pirates discharged a cannonade of pistols 
at the naval men; this fire was returned as briskly. 
Cutlasses clashed metallically from all sides. 
Maynard, in the midst of the fighting, considered 
the situation coolly. With his twelve men gone, 
he had a bare dozen left; there seemed twice as 
many pirates. Well, what were odds but a bugle- 
call to men? Flailing right and left with his cut¬ 
lass, he drove at Teach. 

The giant’s blade came crashing down, at the 
moment the lieutenant brought his sword into play. 
A taut parry with his own mighty muscles, and the 
pirate steel was deflected. At the same moment, 
Maynard lunged. This was parried: and it was 
smash, parry, smash again, up and down the slip¬ 
pery deck, neither giving ground but in a feint. 


INTO THE SEA 


295 


For all Blackboard’s superior size, night after 
night of drunken carousal had dulled his com¬ 
manding wit and slowed his muscles: and May¬ 
nard, after the first interchange of blows, knew 
that he was at the top of his speed and power, and 
that this was a match for the black water-thief. 

Youth and fitness began to tell; Blackbeard was 
slowly driven back to the railing. Lunge after 
lunge from the lieutenant’s blade flicked danger¬ 
ously close to the pirate’s face, his sword arm, 
his heart; in some desperation Teach sought a side 
escape. There was none. 

He whirled his cutlass above his head for a 
tremendous stroke, that would have cloven a man 
from brow to navel. From a low stoop Maynard 
lunged at the very moment the other’s stroke de¬ 
scended. There was a wrenching shock as metal 
met metal, and the lieutenant felt his blade shiver 
and break in his hands, and go clattering down the 
deck like a drunken man. 

Stupidly Teach stared a second too long at his 
disarmed enemy, then rushed in to end him. May¬ 
nard was out of reach, deliberately falling upon 
his knees to cock his second pistol. 

Well, Blackbeard would end this now! With 
a roar of demoniac rage, he charged in on the 
crouching officer, and brought his great cutlass 
down. Maynard’s hammer clicked harmlessly in 
the lock. He closed his eyes, to meet the outlaw’s 
stroke. 


296 


FOLLY 


At the very moment that the cutlass was about 
to brain him, one of his men, free for the moment, 
struck with his sword from the side, at Black- 
beard’s unguarded body. The cutlass tore into 
Teach’s neck and throat, and in its vast swing, 
once it broke loose from the pirate’s body, it struck 
Maynard’s pistol hand, wounding it. 

Teach stood uncertainly upright, the blood gush¬ 
ing from his neck over his elegant coat. At that 
moment Maynard’s pistol spoke from his wounded 
hand, and the shot entered Teach’s breast. 

The Lieutenant stood back a moment, to gloat 
upon his enemy’s inevitable fall. To his con¬ 
sternation, the pirate glared diabolic hatred for a 
breath, and then, seeing the man who had struck 
him turn his back, he brought down his cutlass 
upon the unsuspecting head, and laid the sailor at 
his feet. Maynard, seizing a cutlass from a fallen 
seaman, rushed toward Teach again. A swirl of 
the melee separated them: he saw Teach engaging 
three of the sailors at once in sword play, while 
he in turn was hard put to it to defend himself 
against two of the pirates who came at him from 
opposite sides. 

One of these he ran through, with a vicious 
lunge that locked his sword in the man’s body; at 
the same instant, the other opponent slipped and 
fell heavily in a pool of blood, driving his own 
blade through his breast, until it stuck out a hand’s 
breadth from the back. A side glance showed 


INTO THE SEA 


297 


Chris that Teach had accounted for two of the men 
against him, and that the third had turned against 
an easier foeman. The pirate, still separated from 
the naval commander, fought to get back at 
him. 

“At him, Roberts!” he roared above the sound¬ 
ing din. 

An ill-favored man near by rushed the com¬ 
mander at the word, but a sailor interposed his 
blade. Instead, Maynard crossed blades with a 
slight swarthy youth who had fought near Teach, 
though apparently doing little execution. 

The man’s blows were so polished in their fence, 
yet so unthreatening, that Maynard had the chance 
to size up affairs on the deck. Only nine of the 
pirates were still fighting, against nine or ten of 
his own crew. As he looked, another pirate fell. 
Then he saw Teach making against him, at the 
moment that the dark youth disengaged his sword, 
and swung away to face another opponent. 

Teach broke free at last, and in a moment’s 
breathing space stood facing Maynard. Blood 
was oozing from innumerable spots on his body; 
the right side of his face had been carried away 
with a shot, and his coat was hued crimson as the 
bloody deck. But Maynard was pale from loss 
of blood, and winded from the struggle: he had 
no loaded pistol, and to his horror saw Black- 
beard stoop slightly, and aim the last of his six 
pistols at the Lieutenant’s breast. Unless this 


298 FOLLY 

missed fire, Maynard felt that his last moment on 
earth had come. 

And then, too quick for words, the swarthy 
slight pirate dashed in behind his chief. There 
was the glint of light on a short gully held in the 
youth’s hand. The knife was driven full force 
into Teach’s side. With a stupid grimace on his 
face, he toppled forward on the deck. 

The devil was dead! 

The man called Roberts, leaning winded against 
the forward railing, was just too slow to prevent 
the unexpected treachery. With a mad shriek of 
hatred, he flung himself, cutlass in hand, at the 
youth, who stood gazing in dazed fashion at the 
fallen giant. One second the cutlass poised above 
the youth’s head; then Roberts, bleeding at the 
breast, faltered in the stroke. The glancing blow 
hit the youth’s head with the flat, and not the 
blade. 

In an agonizing moment of clarity, Maynard 
seemed to be sensible of everything on the deck 
at once. The pirate chief squirmed in death in 
the blood he had spilt; the half dozen pirates still 
alive were screaming, “Quarter! Quarter!” and 
plunging frenziedly overboard. And the youth, 
smitten sorely, toppled backward, hanging over 
the railing as the body of Roberts slumped to the 
deck. 

There came a call from the wounded youth: 
“Chris!” 


INTO THE SEA 


299 


Maynard stared wildly, his brain topsy-turvy. 
That tone- 

Once again, “Chris!” more weakly. Then the 
youth’s body toppled outward over the railing. A 
moment later Maynard heard the dull splash as it 
struck the water. 

The world turned black before him in one 
dreadful instant. He would know that voice any¬ 
where in the world. It was Folly—his Folly—by 
her own folly sent to her death in the red waters 
below. 

Forgetting all else, he was at the railing, star¬ 
ing at the fouled water below. There was a black 
mass, hardly visible beneath him—that must be 
her body. 

“Dear God!” he prayed once, and flung himself 
through the air into the ocean after her. 

In the second between his leap and the cold kiss 
of the flood, every detail of the happy few hours 
with the girl seemed frozen around him, living; 
yet he strangely out of it, as well as in it. He felt 
divided into one who saw the whole picture, and 
another who was of every bit of it. And then the 
water ended this. 

It took a second for him to find eyesight. There 
was the mass he had dived for, still sinking. Two 
powerful strokes, and he was down beside her, 
far under water. Somehow an arm caught at her 
shoulder, and, flailing furiously with the other 
arm and both legs, he made for the surface. A 



300 


FOLLY 


bewildering eternity of dark green fluidic exist¬ 
ence, and the brightening wet sky above him gave 
way to the serene blue far above. 

One quick glance: he was quite a distance from 
the ship. Treading water, he raised Folly’s head 
until it lay against his arm, eyes closed, cheeks 
pallid, all lifeless. 

“Folly!” he cried, a low but imperative prayer 
to God out of his great desolation of spirit. 

The head stirred with a quiet tremor, the eyes 
opened dreamily. “Chris,” she murmured, smil¬ 
ing a smile of ineffable content. 

His heart singing like golden trumpets, he 
struck out for the ship. 


THE END 























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